


Forced Parallels

by skyrat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Assassins, M/M, Skyhold, The Fade, Varric Tethras/Bianca Davri (Past) - Freeform, Vinqy, alternating povs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22164559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyrat/pseuds/skyrat
Summary: A botched assassination attempt sends Skyhold into crisis and the race to save the Inquisitor sheds light on some interesting revelations. If only Maxwell and Varric weren't so embroiled in emotional subterfuge...a bit of communication might have saved a lot of trouble.
Relationships: Inquisitor/Varric Tethras, Male Inquisitor/Varric Tethras, Varric Tethras/Male Trevelyan, Varric Tethras/Maxwell Trevelyn, Varric Tethras/Trevelyn
Comments: 31
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Genuinelies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genuinelies/gifts).



> The timeline of this story is a bit wibbly wobbly. It's meant to take place after the mission 'Well, Shit' but before Adamant and the canon tumble into the Fade. 
> 
> There will be minor references to things that happen in the Graphic Novel 'Dragon Age: Until We Sleep' and the novel 'Dragon Age: Asunder'.
> 
> I took some liberties with the Fade. Further comment at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers.

* * * (Varric) * * *

“W—What?”

For the first time in possibly his entire life, Varric Tethras, master storyteller and spinner of effortless lies, was at a complete and utter loss for words.

His alcohol tinged brain tried to process what was happening, but it didn’t make _sense_.

“The Inquisitor’s down!” yelled a voice from…somewhere.

He blinked as his mind tried to reject the fact that the Inquisitor, who just a moment before had been drinking and laughing with him (over some inane story Varric couldn’t even remember telling) was now slumped in front of him, unnaturally pale…possibly not breathing?

A second body thumped to the ground a few feet away, one of Sera’s arrows through the neck.

A moment that felt like ten thousand years pulled Varric in a dozen different directions. He should go to the Inquisitor. No, he should go find someone _else_ to go to the Inquisitor—Dorian, or Solas, or a healer, anyone who might be able to _fix_ him. No, first he needed to make sure there weren’t any more assassins.

 _Shit._

_Assassins._

He felt like he was moving through a tar pit as he turned to get a thoroughly good look at the body on the floor. Puzzle pieces finally began to snap together.

An obvious assassin. From…House Davri.

_Shit shit shit!_

How had he missed that one coming? He had informants everywhere. He had years of experience evading them. He should have noticed!

_Why had the Inquisitor gotten in the way?_

Why had there even been an assassin in the first place? He’d called things off. There was no reason for any more assassins. His last letter to Bianca had stated that he wouldn’t be sending any more letters. It had been a painful decision to make, but finding out that _she_ was the red lyrium leak at Valammar had been the final too-heavy brick on top of an incredibly unstable tower of doomed love. Varric had always known it would come crashing down eventually. But he’d thought he’d managed to walk away before it got so bad it actually killed him.

Well, to be fair, he had. It had just possibly killed someone else in his place.

_Why had the Inquisitor gotten in the way?_

“Healer!” he finally stuttered out. “Someone get a healer!”

He scrambled to get close enough to check the Inquisitor’s vitals. On the surface he looked like a corpse. On closer investigation Varric found, to his great relief, a heartbeat and the shallowest of breathing. He couldn’t see any blood or visible injury.

“Maker’s breath!” he screamed. “Someone get a blighted healer _now_!”

Varric tried to slow down his racing thoughts enough to piece together what had happened. They’d just been in the tavern, exchanging stories and having a few drinks. (Maybe a few too many. Varric knew better than to compromise his alertness that much, but the evening had seemed comparatively low-risk. And he needed the break. He’d been having a rough…well, let’s be honest. He hadn’t had a rough week; he’d had a rough _fifteen years_.) A serving girl had come to the table with a new round of drinks and begun to hand one to Varric. In a blur of confusion, the Inquisitor had uncharacteristically snatched it out from in front of him…and then promptly collapsed.

Varric picked up the Inquisitor’s right hand and inspected his palm. There was a tiny incision, a barely noticeable slit that could have been mistaken for a paper-cut.

“Poison blade,” Varric stated hollowly.

Of all the weird shit that their team had survived, the most crucial person in Thedas had just been taken down by a mug of ale intended for Varric Tethras.

Well, _shit_.

* * * (Maxwell) * * *

He must have had too much to drink. Max wobbled in his chair, overwhelmed by a sudden sense of vertigo.

“You okay?”

He shook his head, trying to get the double image of Varric to slide back into a sensible view. The twin dwarves shimmered and then merged back into the very concerned face of his friend and current drinking companion. The onslaught of relief that hit him as his vision cleared threw Max for a loop and he found himself reaching out to touch Varric although he wasn’t sure why. He redirected and slammed his hand down on the table to steady himself. He winced; glad it hadn’t been the one with the Anchor.

“Are _you_ okay?” he echoed back.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be okay?” Varric’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

“I…I thought….” Max frowned, having trouble pinning down his thoughts. He’d had an overwhelming sense of panic just now but the urgency was slipping through his mind like sand. He’d been worried about Varric, hadn’t he? Terrified, even. But Varric was sitting there, completely calm and normal looking. “I must have had too much to drink,” he finished uncertainly.

“You haven’t had that much,” said Varric, his concerned expression easing back into a smile. “Probably just overwhelmed by anticipation of what happens next.” He winked.

“What happens next?” Max still felt dazed. Varric wasn’t entirely making sense.

“In the story?” Varric prompted. “You were pretty enraptured by it a moment ago. I was just getting to the good part.”

“Oh…right.” _Right_. It had been a pretty good tale Varric was telling, hadn’t it? He’d been laughing fairly hard a moment ago. Maybe he’d choked on his drink. It had probably made him lightheaded. Right.

He looked down and found a full glass of whiskey in front of him as well as a bowl of stew. It smelled _amazing_. Herald’s Rest must have gotten a new cook recently; Max didn’t remember the food being half this appealing. He’d have to ask Cabot about it later. He dug into it, figuring that getting some food in his stomach would help him regain his bearings. He gestured with his spoon for Varric to continue.

“Well,” said Varric, leaning towards Max with a conspiratorial smirk, “when it was revealed that the Teyrn had rigged the fox hunt the only thing that would appease the Bann’s anger was to arrange an elaborate wedding for their Mabari….”

Max grinned as he let Varric’s voice carry him away with good conversation and company. The ever-present weight of stress and responsibility constantly suffocating Max ebbed into a whisper as he lost himself in the tale and the whiskey. They really ought to do this more often….

* * * (Varric) * * *

“Why would assassins be going after _you_?”

Varric flinched at the accusatory tone in Cassandra’s voice. He would be the last person to contest he deserved it of course, but he was already doing a good enough job berating himself internally. He didn’t need assistance, thanks.

His guilt was eating him up so badly he very nearly spilled the real story. But the words wouldn’t come out. It had been difficult (and surprising—how had that even happened, anyway? He’d never even told _Hawke_ ) enough to confide in the Inquisitor about his past with Bianca, and then he hadn’t been under this kind of duress. It would probably kill him to tell that particular truth now, knowing what the cost had been.

He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “Merchant Guild drama,” he said with a wave. “This sort of thing is more common than you’d think.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying,” she hissed. “You’re lying and you’ve compromised the entire Inquisition!”

Varric’s fingers flexed compulsively, but he remained stone-faced and let her words wash over him. There really wasn’t much to say.

For lack of any contribution he could make to actually help the situation, Varric went back to pacing. He’d been doing so almost non-stop for the past two hours, as various people worked to stave the Inquisitor off the brink of death.

“Stop that, you’re making me ill,” muttered Cassandra.

“The feeling’s mutual,” Varric muttered back.

“ _What_ did you just say?” Her tone grew dangerous.

“I said I’m going to check on their progress,” Varric snapped, and stormed into the Inquisitor’s room. His brief spike of irritation quickly liquefied back into misery at the sight of the Inquisitor’s motionless form.

“Shit,” he whispered wretchedly. “What’s the status?”

“We’ve managed to stabilize the body,” Solas informed.

 _The_ body. Not _his_ body. Varric gritted his teeth as the Inquisitor was reduced to a slab of meat.

“Just…his body?” he dared to ask.

“All attempts to return consciousness have been unsuccessful.”

“But you haven’t given up yet,” Varric stated, daring them to make it a question. “You’re still attempting.”

“We are running out of things to attempt.” 

“No,” he said, almost choking on the lump in his throat. “We’ll find someone else with new ideas. There has to be something that _someone_ can do.”

“We still have some working theories,” Dorian interjected kindly. “No one has given up yet.”

* * * (Maxwell) * * *

The stories kept flowing. Max was impressed at his companion’s seemingly endless repertoire. Was Varric just making all of it up on the spot? Or did any of them have shreds of truth at the centers? Max didn’t really care; he was just appreciative of the companionship and distraction.

By about the tenth (or was it fifteenth? Thirtieth?) tale, he began to wonder at the time. Surely they’d been here several hours longer than usual? It was strange he still didn’t feel tired.

“It must be very late,” he finally said regretfully. “Getting anything done tomorrow is going to be murder.”

“Which is exactly why we should put tomorrow off,” Varric agreed. “How about a game of Wicked Grace?”

Max smiled at the temptation. That certainly sounded more pleasant than going to bed and waking up tired to get started on his endless rounds of duties. Never mind that doing so would only make the next day even wearier when responsibility finally caught up to him. “I’m sure everyone else is already asleep,” he pointed out.

“Their loss,” Varric grinned. “Just one round? One-on-one? Intimate games are always the most fun.”

Heat rose up Max’s neck as Varric winked again, this time accentuating the word ‘ _intimate_.’

Varric was just joking of course. There was definitely no loaded meaning to that glib comment and Max made his best effort to ignore the vague and nebulous sense of longing it sparked. It was a meaningless turn of phrase and he was being stupid for feeling flustered by it. If Varric could be so flippant about it, so could Max.

“Shall we take our _intimate_ game somewhere more private?” he flirted back.

“Yeah.” Suddenly Varric’s voice was disconcertingly serious. “Let’s go to my room.”

Max’s eyebrows rose at that. He’d assumed they’d be heading back to his own suite. Varric was exceptionally private about everything, his living quarters being no exception. Max had never even seen them, always catching Varric loitering in other parts of Skyhold.

“I’d like that,” he replied honestly.

Max followed Varric through the disconcertingly empty corridors and stairs into a decent sized room filled with books and stacks of paper. The rogue cleared off a table, tossed a pack of cards into the center of it, and lit the fireplace.

“Who’s dealing?” asked Max.

“Why don’t you do the honor?” replied Varric. “I’ll just get us another drink. Wine or something harder?”

“I think I’ve probably already had enough for one night.” Max began shuffling the deck. “But don’t hold back on my account. I could use the tactical advantage.” He snickered.

“Trying to get me drunk, Max?” Varric retorted good-naturedly. “I’ll have you know that won’t be enough of an advantage for you to win.”

Max startled and the cards slipped out of his shuffle, spraying across the table.

“What?”

“I said I can still kick your ass drunk,” Varric stated. “But if you don’t believe me I’m happy to make a wager on the matter….”

“No, what did you _call_ me?” Max clarified.

Varric’s head tilted, his friendly features shifting into an amused challenge. “Your name? Is that a problem your Inquisitorialness?”

“You never call me by my name,” Max stated. The buzz of warmth he’d been drifting in from the alcohol and camaraderie started to dissipate, and a wash of icy wrongness rushed in to fill the void. Max looked around, trying to get a better view of Varric’s room. There was an alarming lack of detail. All the furniture and tapestries were no more than vague shapes obscured by shadows. The stacks of books didn’t have titles. The papers scattered everywhere were _blank_. Max might not have known what the interior of Varric’s room looked like, but he would have bet coin that the manuscripts would have had actual text on them.

“What, and is there a new royal decree that I can’t start?” Varric put his hands up, his grin bashful. “‘Your Inquisitorialness’ is beginning to become a bit of a mouthful. I thought it was time to get more familiar. You have to admit we’ve been getting rather…close, right?” Varric took a step nearer, his expression earnest. “I…shit, this is awkward.” Varric shrugged and deflated a bit. “Max…I….”

“Stop,” Max stood up and took a step back. But it felt like walking through water. He didn’t _want_ to take a step back. He wanted to take a step _forward_. Because Varric was saying all the right things; and he was looking at Max with the kind of soft, hopeful expression that Max was pretty sure the real Varric kept reserved for Bianca. And that was the really confusing thing here. The rest of the room might have been suspiciously diaphanous but Varric’s features were razor sharp. Every detail of his appearance rang true, right down to the gilt embroidery of his shirt, the dusting of stubble on his chin, the faded scar across his nose, the few wisps of hair that had fallen loose from their tie and were tucked instead behind his ear. There was nothing unformed or out of place to imply he wasn’t his true, fully solid self…nothing except the wrong words and expressions that belonged to someone else.

“Come on, Max,” Varric pleaded. “You said yourself you probably had too much to drink. I guess you were right. I was just trying to have a good time with you. You’ve always _wanted_ me to call you by your name, right?”

“The real Varric doesn’t know that,” said Max stiffly, taking another step back.

“I _am_ the real Varric,” said the definitely-not-real-Varric.

“Doubtful. I have to go.” Max spun around and sprinted out of the room.

* * * (Varric) * * *

“We think his spirit slipped into the Fade.”

Everyone’s face was grim as Solas and Dorian gave their briefing.

Varric frowned. “Then why isn’t he waking up now that his body is healed? Humans go into the Fade all the time when they sleep, right? And the Inquisitor has the Anchor. The Fade should be no hardship for him.”

“The Anchor is still here in this world.” Solas gestured at the Inquisitor’s limp arm. “It would only assist him if he’d traveled into the Fade with his corporal form. Right now he has no more advantage than an ordinary human.”

“But ordinary humans go there in their sleep and still wake up,” Varric reiterated. “Why can’t you wake him?”

“They do not always wake up,” Dorian corrected. “It’s possible to get trapped.”

Varric’s frown deepened. He unfortunately knew too well what Dorian meant. He might not travel the Fade in dreams like humans and elves, but he had been there all the same. And his experience had been a harrowing exercise in temptation. To stay behind and languish in a pretend life with Bianca’s ghostly doppelganger would have been all too easy. He’d actually considered it; even after realizing it was fake.

He hated the Fade.

Is that what was happening to the Inquisitor? Was he caught up in a dream of a better life? Or was he being tortured by demons? Was he stuck there on purpose or legitimately trapped?

“We have to go in and find him then,” he concluded.

“Yes,” Josephine agreed. “He needs to be recovered. But how many should go? Too large a party might attract the wrong sort of attention.”

“I’ll go.”

Varric and Cassandra both volunteered simultaneously.

“Josephine is correct. In this case, stealth is the best option. The larger the party, the stronger a beacon to attract demons and spirits,” Solas commented. “It would be wisest to recruit a mage, but not much more.”

“Recruit?” Cullen turned to the elven apostate. “ _You_ do not volunteer?”

“Much as I would like to, alas, I cannot,” replied Solas. “If I remain behind I can activate the Anchor in his hand to open a rift. You will need me here to maintain the rift for your return.”

“Ah, lucky me.” Dorian let out a long-suffering sigh. “It looks like I’ve been drafted. Fortunately I would have volunteered anyway, so there’s that.” He arched an eyebrow at Solas.

“Dorian and Cassandra should go,” Leliana concluded. “They will make a strong team.”

“I. Am. _Going_.” Varric practically snarled.

“He cannot be trusted,” Cassandra immediately objected.

“On the contrary, I can be trusted more than most,” Varric countered. “I can be trusted not to fall into a trap. I already have experience recognizing the trickery of the Fade. I have been there physically and know what sort of illusions to anticipate. I won’t be easily fooled by spirits.”

“Irrelevant,” Cassandra dismissed. “I am vigilant and not easily fooled.”

“Experience would be an advantage,” Cullen considered.

“I am in agreement. Varric, you should accompany Dorian,” Leliana agreed. “Cassandra will stand by. We’ll send her in if Dorian and Varric do not return in a designated time frame.”

Cassandra scowled but did not contradict. “Three hours,” she said instead. “We will give them three hours. Then I will follow.”

“Prepare a rift,” Josephine decreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it probably doesn't make sense that they are going into the Fade physically instead of Solas just going in a dreaming state and fetching Max that way...let's just say he had his own reasons not to offer doing that.... The story was more interesting this way. I just want to acknowledge I'm aware of that plothole. Whoops, sorry!


	2. Chapter 2

* * * (Maxwell) * * *

As he ran the familiar corridors of Skyhold melted into mist and floating chunks of stone. Max stumbled but managed to recover before slipping into the void. At first he heard the steady sound of footsteps behind him, but he refused to turn and look for Varric’s imitation. Eventually they faded along with everything else.

Max held up his hand and pointed it at the sky (or the direction where the sky should have been, had there been a proper sky instead of endless dark mist.)

Nothing happened.

He redoubled his effort, trying to channel his will into activating the Anchor but _still_ nothing happened.

“Why am I here?” he asked the darkness.

“Why are you anywhere?” A shadowy figure slunk out from behind a crumbling column. “Why were you at the conclave? Why did you receive the Anchor? What have you done that was actually your intent and not just happenstance or the will of others?”

A muscle in Max’s jaw twitched. He opened his mouth to tell off the spirit (demon?) but quickly thought better of it. No good could possibly come from engaging with an antagonistic wisp. He turned and walked away. If he couldn’t open a rift by himself, he’d have to just keep moving until he found one that hadn’t been closed yet.

* * * (Varric) * * *

Varric held Bianca ready, steeling himself for what was to come and the inevitable heartache he was sure awaited him in the Fade. He didn’t doubt for a second he was going to have to face Bianca in there. Not the one he currently had cradled in his arms made of ingeniously assembled wood and metal. No, he’d thought he’d finally managed to disentangle himself from the even more ingenious (or was the right word devious?) living and breathing Bianca. But life was cruel and the barely scabbed over wounds she’d left were surely about to get ripped wide open. Varric wasn’t even sure if it would be his fading memory of desire or his more current and prevalent rage that would summon her likeness to appear by the spirits. It didn’t really matter though: either would be too irresistible a temptation for the Fade to pass over. Regardless of what emotion called her forth Varric was going to find her there.

And he’d _kill_ whatever bastard of a spirit decided to wear her face. That was the one comforting thing he could promise himself, at least.

“Ready Sparkler?” he asked, burying all of his reservations under expertly cultivated nonchalance.

“For almost certain horror and doom? Who wouldn’t be?” Dorian confirmed.

With that they jumped through the ominous green tear that Solas had crafted with assistance from the Inquisitor’s lifeless palm.

They didn’t even have a chance to look around before everything—in its usual fashion—slid sideways. “Watch out! Darkspawn!” Varric warned, as he saw one coming up behind Dorian.

The mage dodged and incinerated the attacker with a blast of electricity.

“Darkspawn?” he asked, evidently confused. “There are no darkspawn here.”

“You just took one down!” yelled Varric. “Nasty thing, infected with spikes of red lyrium?”

“Interesting. That’s not what I saw,” said Dorian calmly as he blasted another.

“Must be fearlings then,” Varric deduced. “What are you seeing?”

Dorian paused for a beat, then quipped, “Myself of course, in very unfashionable clothes and a hideous haircut.”

“Whatever you say, Sparkler.” Varric grunted and fired an arrow through another corpse-like crystalized monstrosity.

A swarm of decaying creatures poured off the top of a stone outcrop and all of Varric’s attention went to fending them off. He heard a _bang_ and when he turned around, Dorian was gone.

“Sparkler?” Varric’s voice echoed in the misty abyss.

“Mage?” he tried again, with no reply.

“ _Pavus_?” he resorted to in desperation.

The only sound was the scramble of darkspawn feet on uneven stone.

“Son of a nug-licker,” Varric muttered, and trudged ahead, shooting monsters as he climbed. “I _hate_ this place.”

He was only mildly worried about being separated from Dorian. The mage was an incredibly competent fighter and would probably have an easier time navigating out of there than Varric would. Dorian could hold his own and all Varric could do is move forward and hope that one of them would stumble into the Inquisitor sooner rather than later.

“If he even wants you to find him,” whispered a voice.

Varric jumped and spun around. He was still completely alone, not even a fearling in sight now.

“Why would he?” hissed another voice. “He’s probably stayed here just to escape you!”

“No one asked the peanut gallery,” Varric muttered and tried to block out the disembodied voices.

“Who’d want to be around the curse of House Tethras?” cackled the air around him. “He ruins everything he touches!”

“Yes, yeeeeesss. Hiding behind fiction because no one wants his truuuuuuths,” agreed the whisper.

“No wonder Bianca didn’t choose you. She would have been a fool to.”

“It’s your fault Corypheus is free. Your fault the red lyrium is spreading. Your fault the Inquisitor is dyyyyying.”

“Soooooo many people dead because of you. And more to cooooome.”

“Shut up!” Varric snarled. He leveled Bianca at the sky, then moved and repositioned. But there was nothing to aim at. He’d never wanted to shoot at something so badly.

“You burn things down with your incompetence and then hide safely behind your boooooks while others pay the price. But everything is your fault….”

“Your fault…” echoed the voices. “…Fault…fault… _fault_ ….”

“I know!” Varric gritted in frustration. “Just shut up, I _know_!”

“Varric?”

Varric jumped again, almost failing to discern the familiar lilt to the voice calling his name from amongst the heckling.

“Inquisitor?” He called hopefully.

“Over here!”

Varric scrambled over a pile of rubble and his heart leapt and then clenched at the sight of Maxwell Trevelyn sprawled under a jagged cliff.

“Inquisitor!” He repeated. “Are you hurt?”

Max offered a brave smile and shrugged. “Not badly,” he reassured. “I’ll be fine. Just need a bit of a rest.”

Varric peered at him suspiciously. He could smell bullshit from a mile away and recognized downplaying when he saw it.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Got into a bit of a tussle with a rage demon,” said Max with a wince. “Bit inconvenient. A little short on weapons or glowy hands at the moment, unfortunately.”

“Where are you hurt?”

“What are you doing here?” Max deflected.

“Looking for you, boss, why _else_ would I be here?”

“On Holiday?” Max chuckled. “Not even sure what _I’m_ doing here, to be honest. I’ve been having a strange day.”

“Yeah…about that,” Varric said uncomfortably. “Why don’t we focus on getting you out of here first. Then when we’re back at Skyhold we can have a chat about the how and why part.” That was definitely _not_ a conversation Varric was looking forward to having, but the Inquisitor deserved to know.

“Not…not so sure that’s on the table,” said Max with another wince.

“That’s not the sort of sentiment I want to hear from you,” said Varric sharply. “What’s wrong? Spark—Dorian is here too. If you’re hurt he can help. You just need to hang on a little bit, I’ll find him and we’ll get you out of here.”

“It’s not actually so bad here,” said Max hazily. “You know, when the demons aren’t attacking. That weird green light is…scenic, even. No stuffy parties or operas to get dragged to, ha. My Aunt would _hate_ it. That almost lends it some charm.”

“Inquisitor!” Varric snapped his fingers in front of Max’s increasingly unfocused eyes. “Shit!” he hissed when the efforts made no impact. “Inquisitor! Stay with me! _Trevelyan_! Come on!”

He gave up trying to get Max to snap out of it and tried to pick him up. Max was nearly twice his size, but Varric was sturdy and muscular. He was pretty sure he could manage, at least for a short distance. He could always roll Max onto his duster and try dragging him….

Varric snatched his hand backwards from where it had briefly connected with the Inquisitor. His fingers came away smeared with blood. How hadn’t he noticed the blood?

Half of Max’s shirt was drenched, the deep crimson standing out brightly against beige fabric. A slowly spreading pool of red-black oozed beneath him, collecting on the stony ground.

“Shit!” Varric’s voice cracked in hysteria. “Dorian!” He screamed frantically. “Over here! The Inquisitor’s hurt!”

“So… _Dorian_ gets first name terms now, hm? But even like _this_ it’s still just ‘Inquisitor’?” Max sighed and tried to gesture at himself but didn’t seem to have enough arm strength to carry through. His bloodied appendage dropped limply back to his side.

“I—what? What does that—it doesn’t— _what_?” Varric sputtered. How in the Maker’s name could the Inquisitor be worried about trivial stuff like how Varric was addressing people at a time like this? He was _bleeding out_.

“Look, Varric. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Oh, no. No way. I’ve heard that line before. I’ve _written_ that line before. Author, remember? That’s one of the oldest clichés there is. The person saying it usually dies within the next five minutes. Not happening on my watch.” He leaned over and started to scoop Max up. He was going to drag him to the nearest rift if it killed him.

Varric froze, thinking a little harder about what he’d just surmised. Actually, what usually happened when someone said that line was the other person interrupted them because they didn’t want to accept it was a death confession. _Then_ someone died. It always led to someone dying with critical information missing. Every. Damn. Time. He’d just played right into his own lazy writing formula.

“Argh, shit,” he sighed. “You’d better tell me. What is it?”

Max lolled sideways, his gore-slicked face flopping onto Varric’s shoulder. He began weakly, “Varric. I….”

“Varric!”

Varric whipped around to find the source of the new voice. Dorian was coming up over the nearest ridge. And he wasn’t alone.

“Varric?” questioned Max. Not the Max currently cradled in Varric’s arms. A new, completely intact Max flanked Dorian’s side.

Varric looked down at the injured Max and then back up at the walking one.

“Well doesn’t _that_ figure,” he said tiredly.

“I was about to tell you I found him, but it looks like you had the same idea,” said Dorian, bemusedly.

“Varric, what are you doing?” asked Max the second. “Is that a Demon? Get away from it!”

“I’m not the demon,” wheezed the first Max. “Varric, don’t leave me here!” His face went stricken as he locked eyes with the dwarf.

“I—I won’t—I mean—ah, _shit_.” His arms tightened reflexively around Max, unwilling to abandon him. At least, unwilling to abandon him until he figured out what was real.

_If_ he figured out what was real. How was he supposed to tell now? The last time he’d been in a situation like this he’d realized that Bianca was an imitation because the scenario had simply been too good to be true. He knew better than to expect his deepest desires to actualize. But this? Nothing about any of this was good. It wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t a temptation. It was terrible. It was terrible and worst of all, _plausible_.

“Varric.” The new Max’s voice was commanding and filled with the steel of someone who’d grown accustomed to leading an organization and calling shots in battle. “Let go and get out of the way.”

“Sorry, no can do. Need a bit more proof of identity first, boss.”

“Dorian told me what happened,” Max continued. “I know I’m not physically here. How could I be bleeding if I’m not really here?”

“Don’t listen to him Varric. I’m running out of time. _Help_ me,” pleaded the other Max.

“You don’t look any less solid,” Varric pointed out to the advancing one.

“Looks can be deceiving,” replied Max. He picked up a piece of stone from the ground and as he pulled it through the air it lengthened and stretched into a blade.

“What the—?” Varric turned, trying to shield the bloody Max from attack. He grabbed for Bianca but didn’t have enough time to take aim. Max kicked the crossbow out of Varric’s grasp and it skidded across the gravel.

“Sorry!” Max grimaced as he shoved Varric out of the way. “You’ll probably never forgive me for that.” He plunged the stone blade into his own image.

“No!” Varric gasped.

The dying Max burst into a brief spout of flame and then vanished.

Varric stayed sprawled on the ground, staring at the singed earth. His eyes slowly trailed over to Bianca. His gaze was intense as he searched for the expected horror and anger at his weapon’s abuse. He was having trouble finding it. The sudden death of the demon had left him feeling strangely hollowed out.

Assuming it had been a demon? It must have been, right? The real Inquisitor wouldn’t have burst into flames like that. Or would he? Who’s to say how a human spirit would react to being stabbed in the Fade. Varric glanced up at the remaining Max, still feeling uncomfortably suspicious.

“Varric, we need to get out of here.” Max held out a hand to help him up, guilt written across his face.

Varric nodded. He crawled over to Bianca and made a point to meticulously check his crossbow for damage, then got up without assistance.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t miss the brief flash of pain that flicked across Max’s features as he withdrew his shunned hand.

* * * (Maxwell) * * *

Living up to the role of Inquisitor wasn’t easy under normal circumstances. While Max believed in the importance and necessity of the job, it wasn’t something he’d chosen for himself and he didn’t always relish fulfilling his duties. Most days he did take great pride and purpose in giving everything he had to protect Thedas. Some days though he wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room and pretend he was still just an anonymous noble with no greater responsibility than looking presentable and not stepping on anyone’s toes.

Today was definitely turning out to be one of the latter ones.

The endless rounds of interrogations about his experience had been mortifying to say the least.

Surely what he’d seen in the Fade wasn’t relevant to the Inquisition or its reports? All that mattered was that he’d been poisoned, and that the others had rescued him. Why did the things he saw while half-dead need to go in the reports?

On the surface his account was probably innocuous enough. He’d been with Varric when it happened, so it made perfect sense that reality and a dream world would bleed together like that. There was no reason any of the others would read any meaning into what he’d experienced.

Only he knew how personally tailored that had truly been.

It had been just the right combination of realistic and tempting to transfix him without raising his suspicions. The fake Varric had acted exactly like the real one. The bait of temptation he’d offered subtle enough and minor enough that the real one could easily have said the same things, but in a joking manner, not actually meaning anything by it. It shouldn’t have tipped him off. It wouldn’t have if Max weren’t so practiced in guarding his feelings.

Max however was very practiced in guarding his feelings.

You had to be when pretty much the entire world was looking to you to stop the apocalypse. Especially when those feelings were obviously a dead-end street that would only upset and distract him if pursued. 

He hadn’t meant to get emotionally invested in anyone in the Inquisition. He had too big of a job—an intense, scary, overwhelming job—to do. He’d meant to focus on that job and worry about anything else when it was done. The Varric thing had snuck in around the edges and caught him off-guard.

He always found himself drifting back to Varric for advice. How could he not? The dwarf _knew_ stuff. He had more connections and contacts than anyone Max had ever known. He could always count on Varric for information, and when that was unattainable, then distraction. Half the things that came out of Varric’s mouth were surprisingly insightful. The other half was incredibly entertaining, and Max could always rely on him to at least ease his stress a little, if not solve a problem. Varric had very quickly gone from being a useful contact to a confidant and friend and Max found himself more and more frequently seeking Varric out for companionship instead of answers. It had been helping to keep Max sane to have such a reliable friend in his inner circle, someone he felt like he could really talk to candidly instead of always feeling like Inquisition business. It really wasn’t surprising that he’d gotten attached.

Not surprising at all, just stupid. Of all Max’s friends and collaborators in the Inquisition, Varric was the _least_ available.

Varric had never advertised being interested in anyone except for other dwarves—specifically _female_ dwarves—a very specific female dwarf to be even more exact. Varric considered himself taken. He was practically married. Never mind the fact that the object of his devotion was _actually_ married and not to Varric. His commitment was just as steadfast as if they had been. Max respected that.

…Or at least he _had_ respected that until he’d actually met Bianca. It had been a little harder to understand his friend’s dedication after witnessing the way she treated him. Max couldn’t help bristling a little now, thinking of their obviously dysfunctional relationship. But it still didn’t matter. Varric’s feelings weren’t going to change based on Max’s approval, and it simply wasn’t his business. The bottom line was that Varric was very, very unavailable. And Max was only going to jeopardize everyone’s safety if he let himself get into a rut over that fact. Varric had offered a generous amount of loyalty and friendship and Max wasn’t going to throw that away just because he couldn’t lay a stake on _more_.

He hoped it wasn’t too late.

Had the others deduced the real meaning behind Max’s experience? Had Varric?

Maybe the others would take it at face value, but Varric would probably figure it out. Because Varric spent all his time dissecting characters and their motivations to make his stories interesting. He got stuff. He understood people. He would see right through Max.

He wasn’t worried that Varric would find his romantic interest offensive or vile or anything like that. He’d seen his friend interacting enough with their diverse acquaintances. He treated them all the same, never acting like any of them were deviant or distasteful.

But being accepting of others didn’t mean Varric was immune to embarrassment, and Max was fairly certain he’d find inconvenient romantic attention on himself to be awkward. Things had been awkward enough in the beginning when Varric still saw Max as some sort of divine tool. It had taken a while to work past that and get on a comfortable level of equals. Max didn’t want to go back to things being awkward between them. 

It was probably too late for that though. Right after they’d escaped the Fade Varric had promised they’d have an in-depth conversation about what had happened. He’d said he just needed to rest up and re-group his thoughts so he could explain better. Then he had completely fucked off.

Apparently Varric had had a _lot_ of thoughts to re-group because he’d managed to remain scarce for days. He hadn’t been hanging out in the Great Hall. Or the tavern. Or anywhere he usually spent time and met up with Max. Max figured Varric was hiding in his quarters but he wasn’t about to step on his toes and make things even tenser by trying to force him out. It was blatantly obvious that Varric was avoiding him.

Max didn’t really blame him, but it hurt.

It hurt a lot.

And he kind of needed to talk about his feelings, but who was he supposed to talk to? The person he’d always turned to for advice was gone.

Luckily a lifetime of being dragged to dreary formal occasions by his family had left him with the tools to manage. With instinctual ease Max smoothed his face into a pleasant and competent expression. He squared his shoulders and soldiered on. He had too much work to do to brood.

* * * (Varric) * * *

Varric hadn’t exactly fucked off. Well, he had. But he wasn’t avoiding anyone. Mostly. Okay, maybe a tiny, tiny bit, but mostly not. He’d initially disappeared for an actual reason. The second that he could excuse himself from the flurry of activity around Max’s extraction from the Fade, Varric had packed a satchel and left Skyhold.

He did owe Max a rather important conversation. But first he needed to have an even more crucial ‘conversation’ with House Davri.

The assassination attempts _had_ to stop.

He’d been dealing with them for years, and they had turned into more of an annoyance than a serious problem. It was like a game. Varric was great at games and had become skilled at seeing the assassins coming. Usually it wasn’t that difficult to divert them. He’d survived dozens and didn’t let them worry him too much.

But endangering his friends was a game changer.

It was not acceptable. It did not bring out Varric’s best qualities. It made him want to kill people back.

He was going to have to try very hard to restrain himself from that course of action, which would surely accelerate the conflict instead of resolving it.

(He couldn’t make any promises though.)

The problem was…it was very difficult to have a conversation with House Davri, when said House had a restraining order on you and would kill you on sight.

He’d thought that he’d already taken care of things by letting Bianca know it was officially over. But maybe Bianca had kept that information to herself. Maybe her family hadn’t believed it. Maybe Bianca herself had actually been the one to commission the assassination. (He wasn’t ready to entertain that possibility, but somewhere in the darker more cynical parts of his mind the idea refused to completely die. Red lyrium exposure changed people, after all.)

Well in order to take care of the mess properly and _not_ get killed, Varric was going to need backup. Which is why he was having yet _another_ awkward conversation.

“Lady problems?” laughed Garrett Hawke. “ _You_? And here I thought you were recruiting me to save the world again.”

“Oh, you’re on the most wanted list for that too.” Varric sighed. “But I’ve been trying to keep you out of it. Look, I’m really sorry for dragging you into yet another mess….”

Hawke clasped Varric on the shoulder. “Happy to help a true friend. So….” He raised his eyebrows as he trailed off.

“So?”

Hawke’s eyebrows rose higher. “ _So_ ,” he repeated meaningfully.

“Just spit it out.”

“I can’t help noticing her name is Bianca.”

“Yes.”

“So…she’s _Bianca_ -Bianca?”

“Why does everyone keep asking that?” Varric pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hawke’s easy grin wavered a bit as he apparently absorbed the fact that he wasn’t first in line to be clued in on Varric’s secret. He recovered though and didn’t comment on it. Instead he asked, “Just coincidence then?”

“No, of course she’s _Bianca_ -Bianca. Obviously.”

“Sorry to hear things haven’t worked out,” replied Hawke seriously.

“It was never going to work out,” Varric admitted. “I’m just sorry it got messy enough to affect other people. This should have been over years ago. I screwed up.”

It was strange to say those words and actually feel sincere. Varric had been trying to tell himself to cut ties for years. Years and years and years. But the resolution never had any willpower behind it. It didn’t matter how hopeless their relationship had been, he didn’t want to end it. Even just getting her in small dribs and drabs had seemed better than the alternative of not having any of Bianca at all. He’d been crazy about her. She was brilliant and clever and fiery and being with her had always felt like an adventure (the good, exciting kind of adventure, like the ones he liked to write stories about. Not the _actual_ types of adventures he always seemed to get roped into, full of demons and crazy people and death.) His warm, shiny, associations for Bianca were tarnishing though. Now when he thought about her the familiar sense of longing was replaced with guilt and regret. Not to mention quite a bit of anger. Loyalty was a quality Varric valued above most else, and took pains to embody. He wasn’t sure if it had been intentional or an accident as she claimed, but Bianca had betrayed him. And her betrayal had caused so, so much damage. Varric now had to shoulder the burden of guilt that damage had wrought. It was too heavy a burden to be balanced out by a handful of sporadic rendezvous and scraps of affection. He didn’t want anything more to do with her, and he didn’t even feel sad thinking that. He was done. Bianca hadn’t been the only person he was loyal to, and now Varric had to put the others first.

“Don’t we all,” Hawke said sympathetically. “Well, let’s get ready. Sounds like we have a Guild to crash.”


	3. Chapter 3

* * * (Maxwell) * * *

Max hadn’t meant to wind up on the upper floor of the Herald’s Rest; he hadn’t meant to go to the tavern at all. It had just become so routine for him to show up there at the end of the day to have a pint with Varric that he found himself drifting through automatically, without intention. A heavy sinking feeling settled in as he stepped through the doors to realize that his usual companion wasn’t waiting for him. He neither wanted to sit and drink alone nor face the shame of turning around to walk right back out. So he’d trudged up the stairs and pretended that that had been his destination all along.

“Hello, Cole,” he said as he entered the dim attic.

Cole peered at him before responding. “You’re in pain but you don’t want to die,” he greeted.

_Well, that was unsettling._

“No,” Max quickly agreed. “Definitely not eager for death. I’ve been going to pretty extensive measures to avoid it, actually. I’m very keen on staying alive.”

“It’s harder to help people who want to live,” Cole said regretfully.

Max put up his hands. “I don’t need any help right now. I just came up to talk. How are you?”

“Sticky,” replied Cole. He glanced down at his arm and then wiped something purple and gelatinous on his shirt.

Max for a moment considered investigating but then decided he probably didn’t want to know what Cole had been up to. “I was wondering,” he said instead. “Can you tell me about the Fade?”

“Can I?” Cole asked back. “Don’t remember before the Spire. After…I went once. Chambers of nightmares. A mirror to the things you don’t want to remember. It shows you what you need to see. Or what will hurt. It’s better here.”

Max nodded. “That sounds consistent with my experience. Do the things you see always have some truth to them?”

“The knife was true,” Cole said thoughtfully. “The dark and the yelling and the death. Locked doors, footsteps, must be quiet, so, so, quiet, closer, I couldn’t stop—” Cole dragged his hands over his face, momentarily distressed. “—But the tranquil were not. Not all of them. They appeared just to hurt. They were not true. The feelings are true.”

“Ah.” Max tried to parse the jumbled statements. It sort of made sense, but was obviously missing large chunks of the message; pretty much par for the course for a conversation with Cole. “Thank you Cole, that was insightful.”

“You don’t belong there,” Cole concluded. “It’s good you didn’t stay.”

“Yes,” Max replied with a nod. “That’s something we’re certainly in agreement on.”

* * * (Varric) * * *

Regret was an increasingly familiar experience for Varric. He had so many regrets he was losing count. Currently he was regretting the order in which he’d chosen to have his unpleasant conversations.

He really should have talked to the Inquisitor first.

He’d managed to convince himself that it would be better to take care of the assassin thing pronto. Because then when he had his difficult debriefing he could at least assure Max that the problem was taken care of and he was no longer a liability. In truth, he’d probably just jumped at the chance to postpone talking to Max, because he was a total coward.

Now he wasn’t entirely sure he was going to live to have that conversation, and it wasn’t sitting very well with him. The weird thing was, he was currently feeling more anxious over the prospect of leaving Max indefinitely hanging than the whole possibly-won’t-live-to-see-out-the-next-24-hours thing.

He hadn’t explained himself. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going. If he didn’t come back he was going to look like a deserter. And probably not many people would be surprised.

Varric was used to people assuming he was a scoundrel and it didn’t usually bother him. He’d lived his entire life under the dual stigmas of having a disgraced family name and being a surfacer and ascendant. He didn’t care about those things in the least and had learned long ago how to form his own self-worth outside of the opinions of others. In fact, people’s assumptions of his shady nature often played to his advantage in his business transactions, and he enjoyed taking advantage of their bias. But he hated the idea of the Inquisitor seeing him that way. Max had a way of always pointing out the best qualities in people. He could inspire people to want to live up to the optimistic way he saw them and the great things he thought they could achieve. The very last thing Varric wanted was for Max to remember him with a feeling of betrayal. 

He didn’t want Max to have to remember him at all, though. He wanted to see him again. Varric was caught off-guard by how urgent the feeling was becoming. He was used to being tense as he entered a hairy situation. But he was used to wanting to stay alive simply for the sake of himself: liking being alive and wanting to stay that way. Having another person factoring into that formula was new.

Weird.

His eyes darted nervously to his backup. Hawke was at his side, sword ready. The familiar sight eased Varric’s nerves slightly. If he were insane enough to actually enjoy almost throwing his life away on a daily basis he would have said he’d missed this. He wasn’t that insane, of course, but it was still nostalgic to be working with Hawke again. (They really ought to try to see each other more often outside of crises.)

He’d feel better though if they were walking into a conflict with demons or darkspawn, or just about anything other than the Merchants Guild.

Fuck, he’d even take a dragon right about now.

Dragons attacked openly without stabbing you in the back.

Varric sighed. He itched to pull Bianca out but didn’t want to start his negotiation off with too confrontational a tone. He was still hoping to keep it as an actual negotiation and not a fight.

“When I invited you around for a visit, this isn’t what I had in mind.” Bianca’s tone was full of her signature sarcasm as she stepped out of the shadows. Varric could detect an underlying thread of worry though. He wasn’t the only one in danger from them being seen together, and this meeting hadn’t been called on her terms.

She’d brought backup as well, although Varric was relieved to see it wasn’t the head of house Davri. She’d brought some cousin that looked vaguely familiar but Varric hadn’t spent much time around. That was a good sign. A random relative was less likely to be trigger-happy against him than a House elder, but could still act as a witness.

He didn’t relax though; snipers probably surrounded them, after all.

“I won’t be taking you up on that,” Varric stated flatly. “Which you know. Why didn’t you inform House Davri that all of our connections have been officially severed?”

Behind her hood Bianca rolled her eyes.

“I can’t imagine that I know what you’re talking about. We’ve been over for years. Everyone knows that.”

“Funny, that’s not the message your assassin delivered,” Varric said bitterly.

“That…must have been a misunderstanding,” she stated hesitantly.

The tiniest shred of relief permeated Varric’s anger. It sounded like Bianca hadn’t known about the latest assassination attempt. It hardly improved the situation, but he was glad to know it hadn’t been under her orders. For whatever that was worth.

(Not a whole lot, unfortunately.)

“The misunderstandings end now,” he said flatly. “It’s done, and you are going to make it explicitly clear to everyone that it is done and if I catch wind of even a thought of another assassin I’ll make sure that half the demons in the Fade rain down on House Davri. Do you understand _that_?”

Bianca let out a laugh. “You do have a flair for the dramatic. But I suppose I always liked that about you. Don’t be a fool Varric, we both know that you didn’t mean what you said in the letter and you don’t mean any of this now. Making grand announcements to the elders would only make things worse when we backslide. I didn’t share what you wrote because I was protecting you.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Varric muttered.

“Just walk away before this escalates,” Bianca urged.

The faintest clicking sound echoed through the air. Varric’s eyes darted up and locked on a dwarf crouched on the eaves of a nearby house. He had a crossbow cocked and aimed.

“Walk away so you can shoot me in the back?” he prompted.

“Your accusations are insulting,” Bianca snapped. “That’s just insurance. You’ve put us both in danger with this meeting!” Her face was stony.

“Well, I happen to have my own insurance,” Varric announced. He put his hands up to show he was not holding a weapon and then slowly reached into his duster. He could feel the tension in the alley ratcheting up as Bianca’s people readied for a possible attack. He withdrew a scroll and held it up.

“Gripping as I’m sure it will be, I’m not here to read your next serial,” Bianca muttered.

“I think you’ll change your tune in a moment,” he promised. “Dangerous idols are not the only things to be discovered in abandoned thaigs, you know” Varric announced.

Bianca watched him, her gaze calculating.

“What I have here is half of a lost rune,” he continued. “Forgotten to time and memory, now known only to myself, thanks to a discovery on one of my explorations.”

Varric could feel every eye on him, even Hawke’s.

“What good is _half_ of a rune?” complained Bianca’s number two.

“Not much,” Varric agreed. “Until I give you the second half.”

“Where are you going with this?” Bianca asked cautiously. He could tell he’d hooked her attention.

“I am here to formally declare to House Davri and House Vasca that Bianca and I are no longer in communication whatsoever: with one exception. As a parting gift, I am leaving this incomplete rune. In five years time, if no contact has been made and no assassins deployed I will have the second half of the rune delivered to Bianca. Via a courier, not personally, of course.”

“And if you feel your terms are not met?” Bianca prompted.

“I have multiple operatives who have been instructed upon news of my death or any of my close associates’ deaths to send the complete rune directly to House Kondrat to add to Branka’s legacy.”

Bianca visibly bristled at the mention of Branka.

“And why exactly are you so certain we will care about this archaic symbol?” she asked, obviously trying to sound casual.

“Because this rune can transform any material it is inscribed upon to embody the qualities of dragon bone,” Varric explained. “Pretty handy, don’t you think? Kind of sounds like the sort of thing that might tip the scales on a paragon nomination perhaps?”

A gasp came from somewhere, but Varric didn’t turn to check. He kept his eyes locked on Bianca. “What do you say?”

“That sounds like a bluff to buy time,” scoffed Bianca’s cousin. “What kind of fools do you take us for, committing to wait for five years before finding out if you’ve ripped us off?”

“What do you have to lose?” Varric asked. “I’m severing things whether we strike an agreement or not. But if I have to deal with any more assassin bullshit, you’ll be getting some far less pleasant gifts than runes.”

Bianca put up her arm. “I believe him,” she said firmly.

“He’s a liar,” hissed one of the dwarves on the roof.

“Not about something like this,” said Bianca. “I know the difference.”

“Well?” Varric prompted.

“Deal accepted,” Bianca agreed, holding out her hand for the scroll. “Although I never thought I’d see the day you’d wuss out and give up over a few meager assassins.”

Varric paused, scroll halfway handed to Bianca. He narrowed his eyes. “We’ve both changed,” he said acidly. He shoved the scroll into her hand, taking care not to actually touch her.

Bianca unrolled the scroll and spent several minutes staring at it. Varric could practically see the gears turning in her head as she plotted tests she could run and projects to apply it to.

“Just so we’re clear,” she added, “possession of this rune is fully transferred to House Davri. We will not be eternally chained to you for royalty payments or licensing fees once it is applied to production.”

“I held no such delusion,” Varric said tiredly. “What part of ‘no further contact’ did you not understand? Take it. Make something great out of it. I’m out.”

Bianca continued to peer at him, gaze inscrutable.

“Thank you for your generous contribution,” she said formally. “Take care Varric. Don’t let those goons you run around with get you killed.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Thanks for your concern. Good bye, Bianca.”

And with that, the formerly most significant person in Varric Tethras’s life walked away.

Varric and Hawke remained in place for a while, listening to be sure that all of Bianca’s party had departed with her. Once they were relatively certain the coast was clear Varric slumped in exhaustion.

“You look like you could use a drink,” said Hawke sympathetically.

“Or ten,” Varric agreed.

“Come on, I’ll buy.” Hawke herded Varric into a nearby tavern. “Here, sit. I’ll be back.”

Varric collapsed onto a worn bench next to a table that had seen better days. A few minutes later Hawke returned and handed him a mug.

“What is it?” Varric asked.

“House specialty,” said Hawke.

“In other words, all the dregs from nearly empty wine casks mixed together into ambiguous sludge,” Varric sighed.

“Very potent sludge,” said Hawke cheerfully. “It smells flammable.”

“Cheers to that.” Varric raised his mug and took a swig.

“How’re you doing?” Hawke asked after several minutes of chugging questionable booze.

Varric shrugged. “Relieved, I guess?” he said. “I wasn’t entirely sure they wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later. That went better than I’d hoped.”

“Rough relationship, huh?” Hawke prompted.

“It went a bit sour,” Varric agreed. “At this point I’m glad to wash my hands of it.”

“That seemed like a pretty valuable thing you’re handing off.”

“ _Invaluable_ , actually” Varric admitted. “You know how desirable dragon bone is; lighter and stronger than metal, takes runes more securely than other materials, very difficult to procure. That rune was priceless. I’ve been sitting on it for quite a while, trying to decide what to do with it.”

“And you just gave it to an ex you’re on bad terms with?” Hawke asked in surprise.

Varric sighed heavily and shrugged. “I’m no smith. I was always going to need to collaborate with someone to make good use of it, and Bianca is the best candidate. I would have given it to her years ago if the Guild would let us openly work together…never quite seemed right hiring a different partner for the project. I also had a hunch it might make a good bargaining chip some day. It’s a bitch to miss out on the potential profits, but keeping people alive is also pretty invaluable, as I’m sure you know.”

“This about the Inquisitor?” Hawke pried.

Varric shirked the question by chugging his drink.

“Interesting,” Hawke mused.

“Nothing _interesting_ about it,” Varric muttered, “I would have done the same thing if you’d been the one to get poisoned.”

“Well, I find that interesting too,” replied Hawke with a smirk.

Varric made a rude gesture and then signaled for a refill.

They drank in companionable silence for the rest of the night. Although Hawke kept shooting him knowing looks that Varric simply didn’t know what to do with. So he didn’t do anything with them and opted to get plastered instead.


	4. Chapter 4

* * * (Maxwell) * * *

Max looked down at the war table in frustration. There were multiple missions he needed to attend to. Reports of red templars and venatori, rifts needing to be closed, political liaisons he needed to make….

…And he had to get on with business and attend to them….

…Without Varric.

He’d stalled a few days hoping that Varric would return and they could smooth things over and go back to business as usual. He strongly preferred to bring Varric along on their quests. He’d gotten into a habit of nearly always including him on missions and developed a familiarity and routine to fighting with him. All of his companions were tremendous assets of course, and Max would still be well off rearranging his routine and bringing someone else in Varric’s place…but he felt handicapped for the loss regardless.

But he couldn’t ignore tending to spreading demons and red lyrium just because he couldn’t assemble his ideal team.

“Cole, Dorian, and The Iron Bull,” he announced. “We can leave for the Hinterlands in the morning.”

His advisors confirmed his decision and Max turned to leave.

“Inquisitor.”

Max turned around to see Cullen looking at him in concern.

“Yes?” he responded.

“May I have a word?”

Max nodded with trepidation and followed Cullen into a private room.

“How can I help?” asked Max.

“I just wanted to check in with you,” Cullen replied. “How are you doing?”

“I’m quite well, thank you.” Max didn’t even think about the question. The answer spilled out automatically, his face instantly settling into a neutral smile.

“Are you?” Cullen arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, absolutely.” Max’s disingenuous expression stretched wider.

“Is your hand bothering you?”

The question caught Max off-guard. He’d expected to be needled about Varric and how poorly he was handling not having him around. His smile faded and he looked down at the Anchor without even meaning to.

“No more than you’d expect for a violently unstable magical weapon that could explode at any time,” he said lightly.

“In other words, yes,” Cullen clarified.

Max shrugged. “A bit.”

_(A lot.)_

_(In all honesty it was frequently excruciating.)_

He glanced back at Cullen and raised an eyebrow himself, wondering how the man had guessed. Max made a point of not complaining about things. Pretty much everywhere he looked he found someone suffering horribly. Considering the sky might split open and bury them in demons any moment, he considered every day he was still walking around alive as a win. What was the point in complaining about the details? He’d felt worse pain from his various battle injuries than the constant aching of his hand. It was relative, really.

“I can recognize concealed discomfort,” Cullen replied. “It’s rather my personal baseline these days. You have been looking less well, Inquisitor. I’ve been concerned.”

“I’m managing,” Max quickly replied. “You need not be concerned.”

Cullen regarded him seriously. “I am not concerned about your performance slipping,” he finally elaborated. “I am simply concerned about _you_.” He gave Max a meaningful look.

Well, the concern _was_ nice, but it didn’t really change anything. Nothing could be done about the state of his hand, regardless of if he acknowledged it or talked about it. The crushing weight of responsibility to save Thedas wasn’t going to go away by talking about it either. It was good to know his associates cared about him, but really he mostly felt embarrassed now to realize that his struggle was noticeable.

“Thank you,” he said. “Your concern is appreciated. I’ll make sure you’re the first to be notified when I finally self-destruct.”

He patted Cullen on the shoulder and strode out of the room.

He felt like a jerk.

* * * (Varric) * * *

“Your Inquisitorialness?” Varric knocked on Max’s door for the fourth time. Just like the other three times, his knock was met by silence. Varric pulled a lock pick out of his boot and was about to start using it but by chance first tried the knob. To his surprise it opened.

“Wooh boy,” he sighed. “I’m going to have to have a conversation with him about locking his doors,” Varric muttered.

Max wasn’t in his room and it didn’t look like he’d been there terribly recently.

Varric wandered back through the Great Hall but found no trace of Max. He decided to check Herald’s Rest, just in case he was getting a late lunch or an early drink. He caught sight of Harding outside and waved her over.

“Hello Varric,” she said good-naturedly. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“Had some urgent business I had to straighten out in Orlais,” he explained. “Have you seen the Inquisitor?”

“You just missed him,” she replied. “He left on a mission to the Hinterlands yesterday. Not sure when they’ll get back.”

Varric sighed in frustration. “The Hinterlands, huh? How…” _dangerous_ “…involved is the mission?”

“I suppose that will depend on what they find when they get there,” replied Harding. “There have been reports of an influx of new refugees. We sent a team to help them and possibly recruit. We’re not sure if the templar problems are of the regular kind or the infected sort, so I image the answer to that will determine how big of a job they have to clean up.”

Varric grimaced at the idea of red templars and Max possibly facing them without his back-up.

“Do you know what specific location they were headed to?” Varric asked. In the back of his mind he was considering Very Bad Ideas of possibly heading out on his own and trying to catch up with the party. These were bad ideas not only because the chance of him actually managing to find them in all the expansive wilds of the Hinterlands was laughably low, but also because the chance of getting eaten by a bear before he found them was unfortunately high. Going out in the wilderness completely alone was somewhat suicidal.

Harding shook her head. “It sounded like they were going to sweep a wide range. They might be headed towards Redcliffe first, but I couldn’t say for certain. You could try checking with Cullen or Leliana or Josephine. They might have more specifics.”

Varric nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate the update.”

“No problem. Glad to see you back.” She smiled at him.

Varric aborted his journey to the tavern and turned towards Cullen’s office instead. He found Cullen at his desk poring over stacks of papers.

“May I interrupt?” he ventured.

Cullen looked up and nodded. “What do you need?”

“I was just informed that the Inquisitor recently departed for the Hinterlands. I was hoping you could fill me in with further details on their mission. Is there a specific targeted location they are headed towards first?”

Cullen studied him seriously for a moment. “Why do you ask?” he countered. “Are you planning on charging after them?”

Varric was dismayed that he was apparently so transparent. “What?” he tried to cover. “No. Of course not. I’m just curious to find out what I missed while I was away.”

“Hm, really?” Cullen didn’t sound convinced. “You don’t usually inquire about those sorts of details for missions you’re not involved in.”

“Is the information so classified you won’t tell me?” Varric asked in frustration.

“No,” Cullen replied calmly. “I just can’t condone you interrupting their mission. It’s already been planned out. They have a directive. Any variance from their plans could be a fatal distraction.”

“I’m not going to distract them! I’d help! Ah, shit,” Varric could have slapped himself for so easily giving his game away.

Cullen smirked. “Thought so.”

“Look, I really feel I would be an asset if I joined them.”

Cullen leaned over his desk. “I’m sure you do. Unfortunately _I_ really feel you would be a distraction. I’m not telling you where they are.”

“Why?” Varric asked in frustration. “The Inquisitor usually personally _asks_ for me to come!”

“Yes,” Cullen agreed.

“He’d want me there,” Varric argued.

“He would have wanted you there at the war council, so you could be included in the planning from the beginning. He would not want you endangering yourself and their team to intrude on a mission that is already well handled and under control.”

“You don’t _know_ that,” Varric retorted peevishly.

“Perhaps not,” Cullen agreed. “But what I do know is that you look extremely troubled. And the Inquisitor has been looking increasingly troubled. And allowing volatile people to go off-plan is how battles are lost. Whatever it is you need to address with the Inquisitor, it will have to wait until he returns.”

“I don’t look—wait. The Inquisitor was looking troubled?”

Cullen looked embarrassed and ran his hand through his hair. “You didn’t hear that from me. But, yes. I’m sure you would have noticed if you’d been around to see him.”

Well. Varric was already feeling like a complete dick, and now he felt like an even bigger one.

“Did he say anything about why?” Varric asked, both wanting to know the answer, and afraid to hear it.

“He was not forthcoming with me, no.” Culled replied. “Perhaps you will have better luck when he returns.”

Varric nodded. “Alright,” he conceded. “I’ll speak to him when he gets back. How long do you think that will be?”

“No more than three to four weeks, probably,” Cullen replied.

Varric sighed heavily. He restrained himself from exclaiming ‘ _well, shit,_ ’ to Cullen. But he was certainly thinking it.

* * * (Maxwell) * * *

“You know, if you want some booze, I’m fairly certain the Inquisition will keep you well stocked. It’s not necessary to loot every corpse you walk past,” Dorian remarked.

Max looked up from the singed pile of bones he’d been scrounging through and held up the bottle he’d just scored. “Yes,” he agreed. “But I doubt Cabot has any—” he squinted at the label and rubbed ash off of it, “—moonshine from the Korcari Wilds.” He shook the bottle and a cloud of sediment rose up from the bottom, raining back down again through the glass.

“I would strongly recommend not drinking that.” Dorian’s face twisted into a repulsed grimace.

“I bet it’s interesting,” Max mused, grinning at the bottle.

“Isn’t half the flora in the Korcari Wilds Sylvan?” Dorian pointed out. “That bottle is probably cursed. You might get possessed if you drink it.”

Max shrugged and stowed the bottle away in his pack.

“He wants distractions, not alcohol,” Cole astutely observed.

For the hundredth time since leaving, Max silently cursed his decision to include Cole in this mission. He liked Cole. He found Cole helpful. He was used to having a rogue on his team and thought Cole would be a logical stand-in for Varric. He forgot that unlike Varric, Cole had a habit of broadcasting everyone’s emotions indiscriminately. This usually wasn’t an issue for Max because he rarely went on missions with a mindset of anything but end-goal focus. Not so, this time.

“I simply believe in thrift,” Max tried to excuse. “It makes no sense to forfeit free resources.”

“Getting poisoned one time wasn’t enough, I see,” said Dorian with a sigh. “You’ve become an addict.”

“Perhaps we will encounter an enemy that _we_ need to poison,” Max argued. “You’ll be glad I picked this up then.”

“Yes, turning our enemy from a regular bastard into an abomination sounds like a brilliant plan. Smashing idea.” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“You don’t complain this much when I loot books and magical artifacts of dubious safety.”

“Well, obviously,” Dorian scoffed. “Those are _useful_.”

“Booze _is_ useful,” Max muttered under his breath. He hadn’t actually intended to drink the sketchy bottle he’d just acquired, but he was becoming increasingly tempted.

“If you wish to get drunk, I can help you out,” The Iron Bull offered.

“Yeah?” asked Max. “What have you got?”

“Dwarven ale,” said Bull with a broad grin.

“Don’t accept,” warned Dorian. “It’s a trap.”

“I’ve never had that,” said Max with interest. “Is it good?”

“It’ll put hair on your chest,” assured Bull. Behind him Dorian was emphatically shaking his head.

“Er…no thanks,” said Max. “I’m already content with the status-quo of my chest actually. It doesn’t need any…enhancements.”

“Suit yourself,” said Bull with a shrug.

Max sighed. His mood was growing steadily worse. The whole reason he’d been focused on searching for useful items was to keep his mind off his problems. Drawing his attention to dwarven things and chest hair made it fairly impossible to not dwell on Varric.

(Not that he’d ever seen Varric drinking dwarven ale…Varric didn’t seem overly fond of traditionally ‘dwarven’ things in general.)

He wondered very briefly if having more chest hair might make him more attractive to Varric and then quickly shot that thought down. It was unlikely. Varric was into women. Max was pretty sure he preferred _all_ the chest hair on himself, not his romantic prospects. Not that Max qualified regardless of his hair quota. He needed to stop thinking things like that. Varric was _avoiding him_.

“He wouldn’t want you to change,” interjected Cole.

Max sighed heavily. “Can we not discuss that?” he requested. “Please?”

“But it’s bothering you,” said Cole.

“Talking about it is not going to make it bother me less,” Max stated.

“It seems to help other people,” said Cole.

“Yes, well. Some problems can be solved by talking. This one can’t. So I’d rather pass.”

“You feel hopeless,” said Cole. “Rhys felt hopeless too. But he was wrong. It wasn’t impossible for a mage and a templar to be together.”

“Um, okay,” said Max, trying to be patient. “I’m happy for him I guess? I don’t see how that’s relevant to me.”

“You feel the same,” said Cole. “You want to be with someone and it feels impossible.”

“Yeah, but in my case it actually _is_ impossible,” grumbled Max. He looked around anxiously, hoping that Dorian and The Iron Bull weren’t listening to the conversation. They seemed to have started bickering about something, to his relief. “The templar you’re talking about is Evangeline, right? I hate to point out the obvious, but Evangeline is a _woman_. That’s a big key difference in our issues.”

Cole shrugged. “She is a woman, but she’s not a templar anymore. After meeting Rhys she questioned things.”

“Wonderful,” said Max tiredly. “Again, I’m very happy for them. Still not relevant to me.”

“Varric has been questioning things,” Cole continued.

Max turned his head to look at Cole so quickly he nearly walked into a tree. “What? How so? What kind of things?”

Cole shrugged. “Things,” he repeated vaguely. “He’s been very mixed up. Being around him feels loud. It makes my head hurt.”

Max’s heart was pounding uncomfortably hard. For a second there Cole had actually given him a burst of hope. But ‘being mixed up’ could mean anything. It didn’t mean he was mixed up about _Max_. Varric was a complex person with lots going on and his issues could be any number of things. It could be about Bianca. Obviously it was about Bianca. Varric had been kind of upset after Valammar. Whatever Varric was feeling it wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Damn Cole for getting his hopes up.

“Thank you for that insight. Whatever he’s feeling, that’s Varric’s business and probably not related to me. We probably shouldn’t talk about it.” Max said diplomatically.

“You’re upset,” observed Cole. “I don’t understand why you’re more upset. I was trying to make you feel better.”

“Because giving me false hope just makes it hurt more when I’m proven right,” snapped Max in frustration. “Varric is with someone else. End of story. End of discussion.”

“He’s not,” said Cole.

Max’s throat went completely dry. “…What?”

“He feels alone,” clarified Cole. “His past brings anger. He’s building walls.”

“…Oh.”

_Don’t get your hopes up_ , Max chanted to himself. _Don’t get your hopes up. Varric cutting out Bianca doesn’t mean he’ll want you instead. Assuming that’s even true. It has nothing to do with me. Don’t get your hopes up._

“Thanks Cole,” he said, voice strained. “That was very informative.”

Cole beamed at him. Max turned and caught both Dorian and The Iron Bull staring at them. Well, crap. How much of that had they heard? From Dorian’s smug expression, probably most of it.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen a book on dwarven courtship rituals in the library, if you’d like me to get that for you,” Dorian remarked cheerfully.

Max gritted his teeth. “That will not be necessary.”

“Are you sure?” Dorian leered. “It had some very _interesting_ illustrations. It might be educational.”

“Maker’s breath, someone just kill me,” Max muttered.

“Sorry Boss, can’t allow that,” Bull chimed in.

“Oh look, I think I see some spindleweed,” said Max very loudly. “We’d better collect it. Can’t miss out on something so _useful_. I’m just going to go over there and pick that spindleweed.” He dashed off before anyone could get in another word.

* * * (Varric) * * *

Varric was trying very hard to operate like normal and not dwell on the growing knot of anxiousness that appeared any time he let himself think about what might be going on with the Inquisitor, and what sort of misconceptions he might be nursing while Varric wasn’t around to dispel them.

In order to keep himself occupied he’d:

\- Started a new business venture exporting quillback leather to Nevarra.

\- Killed five characters in his latest novel.

-Had second thoughts about killing five characters in his latest novel, rewrote it so that no one died and everyone lived happily every after.

-Felt like a complete sellout and rewrote it again, killing six characters, extra gruesomely.

-Ordered a gift basket of cheese to be delivered to the Amell estate.

-Lent money to a dwarf of questionable integrity to start up an obsidian mining operation.

-Dispatched a bard to trail said borrower and confirm that the loan was _actually_ used for the mining operation.

-Started writing an entirely new novella that had a noticeable lack of adventuring and an unusual amount of talking about feelings in it.

-Threw the novella in the fire.

-Rewrote the novella, this time with a dragon in it.

-Considered sending it to his publisher.

-Considered throwing it in the fire.

-Shoved the novella in a box and kicked it under his bed, fate to be determined later.

Varric paced around his room, out of ideas for distractions and utterly disgusted with the quality of everything he’d been writing lately. It was very frustrating, because usually his books were what he could turn to when he needed an escape. Instead they were turning suspiciously into psychological mirrors.

He was getting too caught up in his head. Maybe he needed some outsider feedback; a fresh set of eyes: the perspective of a fan.

He knew exactly who to ask.

(Too bad she hated him.)


	5. Chapter 5

* * * (Maxwell) * * *

Max supposed he ought to feel relieved. Their mission was practically finished. They were just spending the night in Redcliffe and in the morning would begin the journey back to Skyhold. Things had gone smoothly. Well, smoothly for them, anyway. An unexpected demon had popped up here and there, but nothing they couldn’t quickly dispatch. They’d recruited a few new members for the Inquisition and acquired some nice resources to bring back with them. What rogue templars they had encountered had been dealt with, and they hadn’t even had to deal with any red lyrium. A total success really.

Dorian and The Iron Bull were celebrating. Whether they were celebrating the mission’s success or the fact that they’d gotten awfully chummy with each other while traveling Max wasn’t sure. But either way they definitely had a thing going and Max didn’t want to intrude.

Cole was…around somewhere. Max had made a point to be anywhere Cole wasn’t as he wasn’t in the mood to be reminded that he was depressed about Varric. He could do that just fine by himself, without Cole’s assistance, thanks.

Apparently the universe wanted him to have assistance.

“Stop moping, my friend,” said Dorian, handing him a drink (not dwarven ale or moonshine, Max noted.) “You should celebrate with us.”

Dorian and Bull moved their private party to Max’s table and each took a seat on either side of him.

“I’m not moping,” Max contested. “I’m brooding. Totally different. Brooding is more mysterious and sophisticated.”

Dorian laughed.

Bull snorted. “Either way, not your best look, Boss. You should do something about whatever’s bothering you.”

“First of all, not going to happen,” said Max. “Second of all, thanks for pretending you don’t know what’s bothering me. I appreciate the tact.”

Bull flashed a grin. “No problem.”

“Seriously though,” Dorian interjected. “You really _should_ do something about what’s bothering you. All that brooding will give you wrinkles.”

“Not really my top concern,” Max muttered. He sighed in frustration and looked at Dorian with betrayal. “Seriously?” he asked. “You too?”

“What?” asked Dorian innocently.

“I would have thought that _you_ of all people would understand the complete futility of trying to pursue someone who is clearly playing for the other team,” Max complained. “Why would you encourage this? The next time I hear some girl swooning over you should I encourage _her_ to have a go at _you_? Is _that_ a good idea? Come on now.”

“Ew, obviously not,” said Dorian. “But that’s neither here nor there. My preferences have been very clearly stated.”

“Last I checked his preferences were pretty clear too.”

“Are they?” Dorian arched his perfectly manicured eyebrows. “Last _I_ checked that was a dwarf with a lot of secrets. He’s never admitted any romantic preferences to me, going one way or the other. Going by what he _says,_ he’s in a relationship with his crossbow. For both your sakes, I hope that’s not true.”

“He likes women,” Max said with a frown. “I’ve personally witnessed the evidence.”

“Exclusively?” Dorian pried.

“Sure looks that way,” said Max. “Why are you pressing on this? I don’t appreciate it.”

“Because no man who’s that obsessed with their own assets is exclusively into women,” Dorian explained, with a shake of his head. “The open shirt? The constant bragging? It’s called overcompensation. Trust me, I’m getting a vibe. Best case scenario, he’s just hiding it. Worst case? He’s in denial. Either way, I think you’ve got a shot.”

“You want me to potentially throw away our friendship and ability to work together as a team because you’re getting a _vibe_?”

“Well, you could instead throw all that away by moping until no one wants to be around you,” said Dorian. “Your choice.”

* * * (Varric) * * *

“I don’t understand.” Cassandra peered at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What’s to understand?” Varric asked, trying to be cheerful and nonchalant. “I just want to talk.”

“You,” Cassandra repeated skeptically. “Want to talk. To me.”

Varric nodded. “Is that a crime?”

“It is…unusual,” Cassandra stated. “What are you up to?”

“Seeker, you wound me.” Varric put his hand on his chest and tried to look dismayed.

“I’m sure you’ll recover,” said Cassandra. “Are you done wasting my time?”

“No, actually, I really did want to talk to you,” Varric repeated. “A little birdie told me you’re a connoisseur of fine literature.”

“Yes, I read,” she verified.

“More specifically, you’ve read _my_ books?”

Cassandra looked embarrassed. “I’m familiar with them,” she admitted.

“And you actually _like_ them, right?” Varric prompted.

“They weren’t terrible,” she muttered, seeming increasingly flustered. “At least not all of them.”

“Perfect!” Varric exclaimed. “So you’ve read all of them. And you have opinions on them.”

“Um…yes?”

“That’s just what I need. Can I bounce some ideas off of you?”

Cassandra blinked and then her eyebrows rose. “You want to talk to me about parts of your books not written yet?”

Varric nodded.

“Are you writing a sequel to _Swords and Shields_?” she asked excitedly.

“Er…no. That’s not the current project. Maybe we can discuss that idea later,” said Varric.

Cassandra deflated slightly but nodded.

“Okay, thanks,” said Varric. “See, I have the start to a plot but I’m still trying to work out what kind of book it’s going to be. Which genre it is, what the tone will be, that sort of stuff.”

“Okay,” Cassandra agreed.

“Right. So there’s two main characters, they’re from fairly different backgrounds and get thrown together by freaky weird circumstances,” Varric begins.

“Go on,” encouraged Cassandra.

“They’re both strikingly attractive, by the way,” Varric elaborated.

“I would expect no less from one of your novels,” replied Cassandra dryly.

“Anyway, lots of, I don’t know, stressful shit happens and they deal with it and end up becoming pretty good friends.”

“What kind of—how do you put it—stressful shit?” Cassandra asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Varric said dismissively. “I’m still working on that part. They’re trying to stave off an invading army of ogres or something. Those are the easy details.”

“Okay,” said Cassandra. “Go on.”

“And then Character A almost dies,” Varric continued. “It’s a close call and really freaks Character B out. It’s sort of Character B’s fault.”

“That sounds familiar,” muttered Cassandra.

“Coincidence, strictly a coincidence, I assure you,” Varric dismissed.

“Sure.” Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, Character A pulls through. But Character B has to do a side quest in order to help Character A and they don’t talk to each other and Character A assumes that Character B is avoiding them, but they’re not. Two ships passing in the night, leading to misunderstandings and hurt feelings, etc.”

“That sounds like forced drama,” complained Cassandra.

“Only because it isn’t fleshed out!” Varric excused. “It’ll be very plausible when I write it.”

“Sure.” Cassandra sighed again.

“So when Character B is ready to finally confront Character A, it turns out it’s too late and Character A had to go on a journey and won’t be back for a long time. So the misunderstanding is going to fester.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Cassandra. “Like how the Inquisitor went to the Hinterlands while you were missing.”

“Well I suppose if you want to _force_ parallels I can see why you’d want to make that comparison,” griped Varric. “But no, not actually anything like that at all. This is an entirely different scenario.”

“Whatever you say,” said Cassandra.

“Exactly!” continued Varric. “So they will finally be reunited. And talk. And everything will be resolved.”

“That’s it?” asked Cassandra.

“What do you mean ‘that’s it’?” retorted Varric. “What else would there be?”

“You skipped the good part,” said Cassandra. “What about the get-together?”

“What get-together?” Varric replied.

“ _The_ get-together,” said Cassandra in exasperation. You’re writing a romance, aren’t you?”

Varric laughed nervously. “Why would you assume that? Are you just saying that because it’s your reading preference? I didn’t mention any hint of a romance in my summary.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Cassandra. “You glossed over all of the action, only talked about your protagonists’ feelings, and didn’t even bother to introduce a supporting cast. If that _isn’t_ a romance it’s going to be terribly boring.”

“There’s going to be lots of action when I write it,” Varric clarified. “I’m filling that in as I go. It’ll be _packed_ with action.”

“Then you’re writing a romance with action in it,” stated Cassandra.

“It’s supposed to be an adventure story,” said Varric weakly.

“I’ve read your adventure stories,” replied Cassandra. “They don’t go like that. That sounds more like _Swords and Shields_ —only less good, to be honest. You should really put your energy into writing the sequel for that instead.”

“Later, later,” said Varric with a sigh. “Your request has been noted. So you really think this sounds romantic, and not, ah, like a tale of epic friendship?”

“Yes, definitely,” agreed Cassandra. “Friends to lovers plot, absolutely.”

“Hm,” said Varric. He chewed on his lip, feeling antsy.

“Was that not helpful?” Cassandra asked. “You said you needed help figuring out the genre.”

“Oh, that was exceptionally helpful,” replied Varric. “You validated some of my, ah, suspicions. I thought…erm. I was wondering if that potential might be there. Wasn’t sure if it was plausible. Had to test the idea out. You know.”

“Oh good.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t want to discourage you from writing. I look forward to reading it.”

“I’ll give you an advance readers copy,” Varric promised. “Thanks again. You’ve given me a lot to think about—I mean write about. Right. Better go get started. Writing, I mean. Catch you later.”

“Don’t screw it up,” said Cassandra with a smirk. But Varric had already left.


	6. Chapter 6

* * * (Maxwell) * * *

Max refused on principle to go look for Varric when he returned to Skyhold. It wasn’t his job to try and find him. He wasn’t the one who’d started avoiding anyone. Besides, he didn’t even know if Varric was there. He wasn’t overly fond of the idea of going to look for him, only to get proof that Varric had left for good. When Varric decided he was done avoiding Max, then he could make the effort himself.

The only problem with that plan was that Max was the Inquisitor. And it was the Inquisitor’s job to make the rounds and get status updates from everyone. Everyone of course included Varric. He couldn’t make Varric come to him first without actually avoiding Varric intentionally himself.

And so he found himself walking through the Great Hall, trying to pretend everything was completely normal and forcing himself to wait until the last possible moment before checking to see if Varric was standing in his usual place by the fire.

He was.

For a second Max considered walking right past to make a point or something. But what point would he be making? That he was petty? The truth was that he was glad to see Varric was back. And he actually wanted to talk to him.

He was just afraid Varric didn’t want to talk to _Max_.

Well, he was about to find out, he supposed.

“Hello Varric,” he said. “Anything to report?”

Varric looked shifty. “What, no personal questions?” he asked. “You usually try to invasively pry personal information out of me when you come by here.”

Max’s eyebrows rose. “Is there a point? You usually say you’re flattered and then deflect answering them. Do you _want_ me to ask you personal questions?”

Varric shrugged. “Honestly? No. But this time I owe you some.”

“Yes,” Max agreed. “You do.”

“Yeah,” said Varric with a sigh. “We should talk. Are you busy?”

“I’m just making the daily rounds. I can finish later. Are _you_ busy?”

“No,” said Varric. “I was just waiting for you.”

Max tried to ignore the way that made his heart skip a little bit. Varric waiting for him wasn’t necessarily good. He could be waiting to give him bad news. Like a notice of resignation.

“Okay,” said Max. “We should go somewhere to talk.”

Varric nodded. “Let’s go to my quarters.”

Now the skipping had stepped up to more of a hammering. Had he really heard that right? The last time Varric had said that to him, it wasn’t really Varric. It had been a spirit or demon trying to tempt him. This was _real_ , right?

“Hey, Inquisitor? You doing alright?”

The use of ‘ _Inquisitor’_ jolted him back to reality. He was still talking to the real Varric. Obviously.

“I’m fine. Just had a bit of déjà vu for a moment there.” He laughed it off. 

Varric still looked concerned but didn’t prod. He nodded for Max to follow him and led him upstairs.

It was a relief to find that Varric’s quarters looked different than what he’d seen in the Fade. There were similarities for sure—there was no shortage of books and papers present—but the books were clearly readable, and the layout was different. The papers were more organized. But there were also a lot of strange artifacts and tools that Max’s mind never would have invented on its own; remnants of Varric’s explorations and business ventures, probably.

“I like your real room better,” Max commented off-handedly.

“Better than what?” Varric looked at him, confused.

Max looked back at Varric, startled, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. _Varric didn’t know_. He’d just assumed that with all the debriefings he’d been subjected to after leaving the Fade, there was no way the details wouldn’t have trickled down to Varric. Varric had to have known what he’d seen in the Fade. Everyone else did!

Well, too late to try and keep that information to himself now….

Max coughed. “Better than the version I saw in the Fade,” he said.

Varric’s brow furrowed. “ _That’s_ what you saw in the Fade? You were in my room?”

“Well not the entire time. It started in Herald’s Rest. Everything was exactly the same as before I ended up in the Fade. I didn’t even realize anything had changed. Then you asked me to play Wicked Grace and we went to your room. But it was a bit wrong, obviously, because I’d never been there for real. I thought you knew this? It was in the debriefing. I thought everyone knew.”

Varric sighed. “I missed the debriefing. As soon as we got out and I knew you were okay I left Skyhold. I had something important I needed to take care of.”

“Yes,” said Max stiffly. “I did notice your absence. I just hadn’t realized you’d left quite that soon.”

“It was urgent,” Varric reiterated.

“Care to fill me in?”

“That’s why we’re here,” said Varric with a sigh. “Why don’t you sit down?” he gestured towards a table and chairs. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Trying to get me drunk?” asked Max, echoing the words fake-Varric had said to him in the Fade.

“Not really,” said Varric with a frown. “Just thought it might take the edge off. _I_ could use the edge taken off.”

“I know,” said Max. “It was just something you…you know what, never mind. Yes, I’ll have some of whatever you’re having.” He sat down at the table.

Varric handed him a glass of brandy and sat down at the table with him.

“Right, so…” said Varric, staring into his glass. “First off, I owe you an apology.”

Max nodded. He certainly wasn’t going to contest that.

“It’s my fault you were poisoned,” said Varric soberly. “I’m sorry for almost getting you killed.”

“I wasn’t aware you had hired that assassin,” said Max glibly.

“What? No, of course I didn’t,” said Varric quickly. “The assassin was after me. I was the target. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Max agreed. “So it was hardly your fault. You didn’t ask to get assassinated.”

“Well, of course not, but it was still my fault. It wasn’t the first time that happened. I should have known better. I could have prevented it. I endangered you.”

“I’m pretty sure I endangered myself,” said Max. “Assuming the poison didn’t scramble my memory, I seem to recall that I intervened. It’s my own fault I got poisoned.”

“…Yes,” agreed Varric. “Actually, that’s true. I’ve been so busy feeling guilty about what happened to you I forgot that I’m mad at you for doing that. Shit, what were you thinking?”

Max shrugged. “Nothing? I didn’t really have time to think about it. Something just seemed not right and I reacted.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” muttered Varric. “You almost died.”

“If I hadn’t, you might have died,” Max retorted. “So, sorry, not sorry.”

“Don’t do that again,” Varric chastised.

“Can’t promise I won’t,” said Max with a shrug. “Are you expecting another assassin to show up? Is that why we’re talking up here instead of the tavern?”

“No, we’re talking up here because I don’t apologize very often and didn’t fancy an audience for it. There shouldn’t be any more assassins. That’s why I left Skyhold. I pulled some strings and it should be taken care of now.”

Max hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should dig into this. He supposed he might as well. It might be his only chance to get Varric talking this openly. In fact, it might be his only chance to talk to Varric at all. He could very well fuck off again after this. Maybe he’d only come back so he could apologize and then leave with a clear conscience.

“The assassin was about Bianca, I take it?”

“Yes,” said Varric with a sigh. “Her family’s been sending them after me for years. I can usually avoid them. This one caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting there to be any more. I thought I’d already taken care of it, but I let my guard down too soon.” He looked at Max resolutely. “Don’t worry, I was much more thorough this time. It really should be over now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because last time I only told _Bianca_ that it was over between us. This time I made sure there were witnesses. And I bribed them. A big enough bribe can usually fix just about any problem in the Merchant’s Guild. Bianca’s family is no exception.”

_Well, it seemed like Cole was right._

Max tried not to read any extra meaning into that. “You ended things with Bianca?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

“It’s not like there was much left to end,” said Varric. “We mostly just wrote letters. I only saw her every couple of years. But, yeah. I’m breaking it all off now. Full stop. I can’t trust her anymore.”

“Good,” said Max.

Varric’s eyebrows rose. “I suppose it was expecting too much to hope for condolences?”

“You deserve better than what you were getting out of that relationship,” said Max. “And if ending it takes you out of the line of assassins, then I see only an upside. But, I suppose I’m sorry if you’re feeling bad about it.” 

“That’s the weird thing,” Varric mused. “I’m not? I really thought I would be. I thought I’d feel terrible about it. I don’t. I’m relieved to finally close the door on it.”

“Well, _good_ ,” Max repeated.

“Yeah,” agreed Varric. “Suppose it is. Cheers to that.” He raised his glass and Max met it with his own. They both took a swig of their brandy and then Varric added, “So if you don’t think your poisoning was my fault, why exactly did you agree that I owed you an apology?”

“Because you left without saying anything and I thought you were avoiding me,” said Max.

“Ah.” Varric looked sheepish. “Yeah. Sorry about that too.”

“You could have left a note at least,” Max continued.

“Yeah,” Varric agreed. “I should have.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” interrupted Max. All the frustration he’d been carrying around for over a month finally started bubbling out. “What you _should_ have done is told me in person. A note is merely the very least of the decent ways you could have handled that. Bottom tier. You should have actually _talked_ to me. I thought you’d left the Inquisition and didn’t even care to say goodbye!”

Varric cringed. “I was afraid you’d think that. I regretted it after I left. I’m sorry.”

“Why though?” Max pressed. “Why didn’t you say anything first?”

“Because I was ashamed I almost caused your death,” Varric said. “I was afraid to tell you. And your rescue mission freaked me out. Look—the Fade didn’t go the way I was expecting it to. I needed to clear my head from the fake you before I could talk to the real you. I didn’t know you’d be gone when I got back. I thought we’d have this talk sooner.”

Max nodded. He could actually understand that a little better now. He’d been freaked out by what he’d seen in the Fade too. “How’d you expected the Fade to go?”

Varric was silent for a while. “I thought I’d see Bianca there. It happened to me before. Desire demon, or whatever. I was mentally prepared for that. But she didn’t show and I saw you instead. And I couldn’t even tell the difference! If you hadn’t killed the demon I don’t even know what I would have done. Shit, this is mortifying.”

“Fade spirits are very convincing. I was almost fooled too,” said Max. “The one impersonating you slipped up a little, that’s all.”

“How so?”

“Er.” Now it was Max’s turn to feel embarrassed. “It called me ‘Max’ instead of ‘Inquisitor’.”

“That’s it?” Varric was looking at him in consternation.

“Well it seemed out of place. It was enough of a jolt to make me look at everything else more closely. There were more frayed ends once I started looking.”

“Maker’s balls, it’s a good thing you were there to pull _me_ out of it. Even with the real you there in front of me I was too mixed up to tell the difference.”

_Yours wasn’t a desire demon,_ Max thought. _It was manipulating different emotions. Ones you weren’t guarding as closely_.

He of course wasn’t about to say _that_ to Varric. He wondered how long it would take until Varric figured it out on his own, anyway.

“Everything worked out,” he said instead. “Don’t worry about it.”

“So…we’re good then?” Varric questioned, his face looking like he still anticipated a catch.

Max nodded. “We’re good. You’re not avoiding me anymore?”

“I was never avoiding you,” Varric quickly replied.

“Good,” said Max. “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” Varric agreed. “Everything’s good.”

They kept looking at each other but seemed to run out of things to say. An unusually long silence caught between them.

“So….” Varric finally broke it. “It sounds like I might owe you a game of Wicked Grace?”

“You want to play…right now?” Max asked in surprise. “Just us?”

“Sure, why not?” Varric glanced at their glasses. “We still have a lot of brandy left. You up for it?”

Max paused for just a beat. He almost asked ‘are we playing for coin or clothes?’ But it was a stupid question, wasn’t it? Varric would never suggest playing strip Wicked Grace without the rest of their group present.

“Of course,” said Max, breaking into a grin. “Always.”

* * * (Varric) * * *

Varric lurked around outside Cullen’s office for a while before finally pushing himself to go inside. He felt strangely guilty for coming. Which was stupid, obviously. The briefing of Max’s time in the Fade wasn’t classified. Max had assumed he’d already read the report. It was something he _should_ have already known about. He was in fact, just doing his job by coming here and asking to read it. It was the responsible thing to do.

So why did ‘the responsible thing to do’ feel like he was sneaking around behind Max’s back?

It was probably that stricken, uncomfortable look Max had given him when he’d said ‘ _It was in the debriefing. I thought everyone knew_.’

Which really had cemented Varric’s need to read it.

“Hey Curly,” he said as he walked up to Cullen’s desk.

“Hello Varric,” replied Cullen, looking up from his paperwork. “How may I assist?”

Well, that was off to a better start than the last time he’d been in this office.

“I’d like to see the report from the Inquisitor’s incident in the Fade,” he said. He fixed his eyes on Cullen challengingly. The last time he’d come in with a request it hadn’t gone over so well and he wasn’t entirely certain Cullen would just hand the report over.

“Certainly,” said Cullen and opened a drawer in his desk and began thumbing through papers.

Varric relaxed as he waited for Cullen to find the file. It would seem he was being paranoid for no reason.

Cullen located the papers he’s been searching for and pulled out a report. He started to hand it to Varric. Varric closed his fingers on the file and attempted to take it. Cullen didn’t let go.

Nope, _not_ being paranoid for no reason apparently. Maker blast it.

“You are aware that this report involves yourself,” Cullen stated.

“Yes,” Varric confirmed. “Obviously.”

“You are also aware that the circumstances of your presence in this report could be open to various interpretations of significance?” Cullen continued to prompt.

“I’ll be more aware once I’ve actually read it,” replied Varric.

“Have you spoken to the Inquisitor since returning?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m here asking for it,” replied Varric, feeling increasingly irritated. “He mentioned it. Said he thought I’d read it. Obviously I need to rectify my ignorance on the topic.” He tugged at the file. Cullen still did not let go.

“Did he speak with you about what was troubling him?”

“Yes,” said Varric with a frustrated sigh. “He did. I was a dick. Are you happy now? Can I read the file?”

“Yes,” said Cullen, finally releasing his hold. “But you should be aware that if you use the information in that file to be an even bigger dick to the Inquisitor, no one will ever find your body.”

Varric gaped at Cullen. “You’re threatening me.”

“Not at all, just offering some friendly advice,” said Cullen with a polite smile.

“Listen Curly, I’m an expert on ‘friendly advice.’ Here’s some of my own advice: it’s not a healthy pastime to threaten this particular dwarf.”

“Then it’s a good thing I was only giving advice and not threatening you,” said Cullen pleasantly.

“You were absolutely threatening me,” said Varric, his irritation spiking. “And I really don’t appreciate it. First of all, it’s laughable that you think you could actually pull your threat off. I deal with that kind of bullshit daily. You’ll have to get in line if you want me dead; it’s a long one. Second of all, what I _really_ don’t appreciate is you insinuating that I’d deliberately be shitty to the Inquisitor.”

“We both know you wouldn’t,” Cullen agreed. “Therefore all that was stated was an unfathomable hypothetical scenario that could not possibly manifest. It’s not a threat if it can’t possibly happen. Glad we’re on the same page.”

Varric narrowed his eyes at Cullen. “Watch it buddy,” he muttered.

“Same to you,” said Cullen.

Varric didn’t respond. He made a rude gesture and sat down on a pile of sandbags to read the report.

His fingers were shaking a bit as he looked down at it. Was that from anger or nerves? Just what the blazes was in it? Was there a lot more than what the Inquisitor had mentioned? Cullen wouldn’t have been so pointed about protecting the Inquisitor’s feelings if it only contained the information that Varric already knew, would he? That meant there must be something pretty significant in there.

He began to read. It didn’t take as long as he expected it would.

…It read exactly like what Max had told him.

They were at Herald’s Rest. They went back to his room. They didn’t even manage to start the game before Max saw through the deception. Max escaped.

_That was it_.

Varric frowned at the report and flipped back to the beginning. He read through it again, more slowly this time, checking for details he might have missed.

No new insight surfaced. Max had apparently had the most mundane Fade experience one could possibly fathom.

“What the Void!” Varric muttered as he stomped back to Cullen’s desk and slammed the report down. “There’s nothing incriminating in there.”

Cullen regarded him coolly. “Were you hoping to find something incriminating on our leader?”

“No, nothing like that!” Varric snapped. “But what was all that bullshit about how I could use this information to be an even bigger dick to him? You made it sound like there was something deeply personal or embarrassing in there. Why are you psyching me out over nothing?”

“Nothing?” Cullen questioned. “Were you previously in the habit of inviting the Inquisitor into your personal quarters and dropping formalities with him? I hadn’t been aware.”

“Well—no,” Varric admitted. “But that’s hardly very significant.”

“Isn’t it?” replied Cullen. “The Fade spirits wouldn’t have had a reason to pull that out of the Inquisitor’s head if it wasn’t significant to _him_.”

“But it’s so minor,” said Varric. “It’s not like when I saw—” he trailed off, brow creasing up in thought. He’d been about to say ‘ _It’s not like when I saw Bianca_ ’ but realized he couldn’t actually be sure that was true. Nothing especially ‘incriminating’ had happened in his Fade vision of her, either. She’d just told him something he’d wanted to believe….

“Er—what exactly are you implying that meant?” he asked uncomfortably.

“It’s not my place to make speculations on the Inquisitor’s personal business,” said Cullen firmly. “My only point is that there was significance there, and you were involved, and as such you should be mindful of how your actions might impact him. If you don’t feel like there is anything meaningful in your interactions then I would strongly suggest clarifying that to him promptly before you cause injury to the Inquisitor and in effect to the entire Inquisition. If you continue jerking him around I’m sure I won’t be the only person you need to worry about intervening.”

“I haven’t been jerking him around!” exclaimed Varric in a burst of dismay.

“Good,” said Cullen. “Make sure he knows that too.”

“I haven’t—it’s not like—what—aw, shit.” Varric ground his teeth in frustration.

Cullen calmly tapped the report on his desk, lining up the papers neatly before he returned it to his desk drawer.

“Varric. Tethras. Does. Not. Jerk. People. Around.” Varric firmly reiterated.

Okay, that was a lie. He jerked people around all the time—but only with tall-tales about _events_. He never jerked around people’s _feelings_. Which is what he was pretty certain Cullen was accusing him of.

“Then you should probably talk to him,” replied Cullen.

“I _did_ ,” said Varric.

“Perhaps talk to him again,” advised Cullen.

“I _will_ ,” snapped Varric as he stormed out of the office.

He didn’t.

His angry stomping took him to Herald’s Rest instead of in search of the Inquisitor. Varric ordered a drink (he was too wound up to even notice what he ordered) and practically threw himself into a chair against the wall to mull things over.

Had everyone gone completely nuts?

First Hawke being all nudge-nudge-wink-wink ‘ _I find that interesting_.’ Then Cassandra and her insistence about _romance_. Now Cullen was making insulting accusations that he was toying with the Inquisitor’s feelings?

As if!

Okay, so maybe Cassandra’s feedback hadn’t been completely out of nowhere. Maybe she’d sort of implied something that had kind of sort of been skirting around the corners of his mind for a while now. Maybe he wasn’t impartial to Max. Maybe he was actually pretty into him.

But what everyone seemed to be utterly missing was the fact that it was _Max_ who wasn’t into _Varric_.

How many dozens of times had he flirted with the Inquisitor when he’d swung by his corner of the Great Hall? No matter how many times he joked about the possibility of Max admiring him, Max never went for it. Not once. Max in fact flirted with pretty much everyone at Skyhold _except_ for him.

How could he be jerking Max around when Max didn’t want him?

The truth of that matter was that he _had_ been hoping to find something significant in that report. Not something incriminating, but illuminating. He’d hoped there’d be evidence that maybe his more-than-platonic inclinations might turn out to not be so one-sided. And Cullen just had to go and act like that that’s _exactly_ what was in there. But it wasn’t. Not in any clear or definitive way.

Varric wasn’t about to let his hopes get raised over anything that wasn’t cut-and-dry obvious. He’d already spent years hanging on to someone who had said she wanted him but didn’t follow through with her actions. Why would he put himself out there when there wasn’t even a clear sign whatsoever? That was just asking to get himself fucked up.

And now they were all rubbing salt in his wounds by acting like he was the insensitive one. The blighted nerve!

Varric took a big swig of his mug and muttered some creative insults under his breath.

“Hey.”

He looked up to find The Iron Bull looming above him.

“What?” said Varric tiredly. “Are you also here to lecture me on how I need to be more delicate with the Inquisitor’s feelings and make some sort of romantic gesture to him even though he’s given no indication whatsoever that he’d actually want that? Go ahead. Join the choir.”

“Uh, no,” replied Bull. “Actually I was going to point out that you’re in my spot. That’s were I usually sit. Would you move? I’m partial to that chair.”

Varric sighed heavily. “Sure. Whatever.” He dragged himself up.

“Although since you bring it up,” interjected Bull before Varric could make his escape, “The Boss _was_ pretty bummed out about you on the last mission. Might not be a bad idea.”

Varric froze. “He was?”

“Big time,” said Bull.

“He actually mentioned he was upset about _me_ specifically?” Varric asked.

“Not on purpose,” replied Bull. “But yeah.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Don’t think I should.” Bull shrugged. “He wasn’t eager to advertise.”

“Not surprising,” said Varric with another sigh.

“ _You_ should talk to him,” Bull recommended.

“I’ve been getting that a lot lately,” Varric muttered.

“So _do_ it.”

“I was going to!” said Varric in frustration.

“Good luck then!” The Iron Bull cheerfully clapped Varric on the shoulder as he turned to walk away, causing the remains of Varric’s drink to slosh all over his chest.

“Thanks,” said Varric dryly, as he tried to wipe rapidly absorbing beads of alcohol off his favorite shirt.

“Don’t worry,” said Bull. “He’ll like you better without the shirt anyway.” He gave Varric thumbs up.

He didn’t have a mirror, but Varric suspected his face was the same color as his shirt as he hastily departed the tavern.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I owe a big apology. I really really did not mean for so much time to elapse before posting this final chapter. The pandemic situation really pulled me out of the right headspace to write and threw a wrench in my update plans. I feel terrible for making everyone wait so long for the ending after previously regular updates!! A million thanks to anyone who's sticking around and still reading. Thank you!

* * * (Maxwell) * * *

“Is it just me,” said Varric, suddenly crashing into his room without knocking and slamming a mug down on his desk, “or did everyone in this blighted fortress suddenly turn into insufferable busybodies?”

Max looked up from his stack of reports in surprise.

“Are you drunk?”

“Unfortunately no,” grumbled Varric. “Not for lack of trying.”

“You smell drunk,” observed Max.

“Yeah, you can thank Tiny for that. I’m having an _amazing_ day.” He rolled his eyes. “How about you?”

“Er…pretty boring routine, so far?” Max’s eyes dropped to the mug. “Hey, doesn’t that belong to Cabot?”

“Eh.” Varric waved the question off. “I’ll return it before he misses it.”

“Er…okay. You seem upset. What’s wrong?” He regarded Varric with concern. Was he mad at Max? Had he figured him out and it pissed him off?

“What’s wrong is that everyone in Skyhold is suddenly poking their noses in my business and offering unsolicited feedback. That happening to you too or is it just me?”

“Actually…yes. That’s happening to me too,” Max confessed.

“Thought so,” snorted Varric. “It’s fucking annoying, isn’t it?”

“The worst,” Max agreed with a small smile.

“I bet Curly hasn’t threated to murder you though,” Varric added blithely.

“He…what? Why? He better not have been serious!”

Varric shrugged. “Couldn’t tell. Might have been.”

“I’ll have a word with him.” Max frowned. That was concerning information. Was Varric exaggerating? It was hard to imagine Cullen threatening one of their own. Not unless Varric had done something particularly terrible, which he couldn’t really picture happening either.

“Not necessary,” Varric brushed off his offer. “I’m not planning on giving him a reason to. Just make sure to avenge me if he goes through with it.”

“Okay….” Max nodded although his reassurance was inauthentic. He was totally still going to have a word with Cullen about this. “You know, now that you mention it I think Cole was offering to kill me too,” he added with a wry smile. “But only if I wanted him to.”

“Hope you were explicitly clear that you don’t want him to,” said Varric.

“I was. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ugh.” Varric peered into his empty mug. “You got anything here to drink?”

“Sure,” said Max. “How do you feel about moonshine from the Korcari Wilds?”

“I feel that would be a good way to ensure Curly and the kid don’t have to bother killing us themselves,” said Varric.

“That sounds an awful lot like some of the unsolicited advice I’ve been getting,” said Max with a chuckle. “I’ve got regular booze too.”

“Give me some of that then.”

Max got up and fetched a bottle of whiskey. He refilled Varric’s filched mug and got himself a fresh glass.

Varric drained his mug almost immediately and held it out for a refill.

Max’s eyebrows rose. Varric was usually a casual drinker. Chugging alcohol wasn’t like him. Against his better judgment he poured another mug full. “Are you really alright?” he asked tentatively.

“Undecided,” replied Varric. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m fine,” said Max automatically.

Varric shot him a flat look. “Authentically fine? Or I’m-the-Inquisitor-and-have-to-put-on-a-good-face-fine?”

Max sighed. “Somewhere in-between. I’m mostly fine.” He took a swig of his own glass.

“Is any of the not-fine part my fault?” Varric asked.

Max choked on his gulp of whiskey. “What?” he sputtered. “Why would you think that? Of course not! My—” he stalled, not really wanting to divulge anything at all but deciding one minor secret was better to let out than his big one. “—My hand is bothering me. Don’t let that get around. It’s not a big deal.”

“Sounds like a big deal,” mumbled Varric. “Can I see?”

He grabbed Max’s hand without waiting for an answer. Max tensed as he felt Varric’s fingers slide over his palm.

“The Anchor hurts you?” he pried.

Max shrugged.

“Did you see a healer?”

“Of course,” said Max. “But they can’t do anything about it. It’s Fade energy, not an illness.”

“What about a spirit healer?” Varric pressed.

“I’ve seen lots of people,” Max clarified. “No one can do anything. This is sort of an unprecedented issue.”

“Yeah,” said Varric with a sigh. “It’s weird as shit.”

“Gee thanks,” muttered Max.

“I said _it’s_ weird as shit, not _you’re_ weird as shit,” Varric clarified.

“It would still be true,” confessed Max.

“All the best people are.”

Varric hadn’t let go of his hand. His fingers were still firmly gripping his palm, carefully avoiding the Anchor. Max’s eyes dropped down to their hands, and then darted up to Varric’s face. He looked pensive.

He still felt tense at the contact, but now the tension had shifted somehow. It felt less guarded, more…anticipatory?

Varric licked his lips but didn’t say anything, didn’t release his hand.

“Um, Varric?” Max ventured.

“Yeah?”

“Care to fill me in on what you were possibly not-fine about?”

“Ah, yeah,” Varric said. “I suppose that’s why I’m here.”

Max waited. Varric didn’t elaborate.

Varric reached for his mug with the hand not gripping Max and took another hearty swig of whiskey. “Right,” he said. “So.”

Max watched him expectantly.

“Funny thing—I’ve been accused of toying with your feelings and jerking you around,” Varric announced with a self-depreciatory laugh.

Max felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. He pulled his hand out of Varric’s. “What?” he said weakly. “Why? By who?”

“Yeah,” said Varric. “Crazy, right?”

“Completely,” breathed Max. His mind was racing. Who had meddled that badly to tip him off to Varric? Cullen? But Cullen wasn’t the one who was on to him. Not about _that_. Dorian and Cole were better candidates. But he’d told them not to! Why would they do that to him! Could he believably deny it? He’d suspected Varric might deduce his feelings on his own. He hadn’t expected one of his friends to give him away first! Fuck.

“Thought so,” said Varric. His expression was totally blank. Max wasn’t used to Varric looking at him so vacantly. Shit! He really had ruined everything, hadn’t he?

“Don’t worry,” said Max in his smoothest nobleman voice, trying to recoup his losses. “I’m aware you would never be interested in me so it’s not possible for you to skew my expectations.”

Varric’s inscrutable mask cracked. “What?” he said. He looked dismayed.

“I have no expectations. I know you’re unattainable. You don’t have to worry about disappointing me. I know everyone thinks I’m very optimistic, but I’ve actually got a pretty clear grip on reality, you know.”

“Apparently not,” said Varric shakily.

“What?”

Varric bypassed his mug and grabbed the entire bottle of whiskey. “Apparently,” he said between substantial gulps, “you’ve been grossly misjudging me. And I’ve been doing likewise. If what you’re saying really is what it sounds like you’re saying. Did you mean that to sound how it sounded?”

“How did it sound?” Max asked.

“Like you would prefer me to be attainable.”

“Well…” Max felt like he was teetering on the parapets of Skyhold, a dead drop to the bottom of the Frostbacks a hair’s breath away. “Yes, actually,” he said through a tightening throat. “I would.”

“See, I keep telling you that you’re a lucky bastard,” said Varric, slamming the bottle down on the desk. “Just didn’t think I’d get to share your luck.”

“What—?” Max tried to make sense of Varric’s announcement but didn’t get a chance. Varric reached across the desk and grabbed Max’s shirt. He pulled him forward and mashed their mouths together in a very awkward kiss. Max didn’t even get a chance to get his bearings enough to kiss back before Varric pulled away.

“Shit I really hope I correctly interpreted that you wanted that,” he said apologetically. “Or Curly’s going to kill me for sure and I’ll deserve it.”

Max was still in shock. “Uh—” he stuttered. His brain was stuck on replaying the brief warmth of Varric’s lips and brush of stubble across his face. “You—you didn’t do that just because you’re drunk by any chance, did you?”

“No,” said Varric quickly. “Not actually drunk yet. However I was drinking to work up the nerve to do that. My track record with romance sucks.”

“Romance?” said Max with a gulp, hardly believing his ears, despite the physical evidence already presented. “So you—?”

“I’m completely attainable,” Varric confirmed. “But only if your name is Maxwell Trevelyn, for the record.” He smirked.

“You never call me that,” Max pointed out. He was starting to break out into a grin though.

“I could start,” said Varric. “I was beginning to get the impression you’d like me to start.”

“Yeah,” Max confirmed. “That might be nice.”

“Alright, _Max_ ,” said Varric. “Consider me attained. Now what?”

“I wouldn’t mind a replay of that kiss. You didn’t give me a chance to participate,” said Max.

Varric shoved the mug and bottle to the side and hopped up on the desk. He reached up and cupped his hands around Max’s face, bringing them together much more gently this time. Max let his eyes fall shut as Varric pressed their lips together and softly brushed his bottom lip with his tongue. He grasped Varric’s shoulders, then let his hands slide around to his back as he opened his mouth and invited Varric’s tongue inside.

It was dizzying to finally be doing this after so many months of wanting to but assuming it was impossible.

He slid his tongue against Varric’s, the contact sparking a warm burn of desire. He felt like he couldn’t get enough of him. Max’s hands moved around, touching as much of Varric as he could manage. When they came around to drag through the chest hair showing through Varric’s open shirt, Varric began to laugh.

Max froze and pulled back (just a little. He couldn’t bear to fully disentangle.) “What?” he asked self-consciously. “Why are you laughing?”

“Tiny was right,” said Varric with a snort.

“About what?”

“He said you’d like me better without my shirt.”

“He…shit, he said _that_?” said Max. “He shouldn’t have—you know what, I can’t really be mad. He’s right. Can I take it off?”

“At this point I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” said Varric. He helped Max pull it out from his sash and over his head.

“You should really rethink your wardrobe to be easier access,” said Varric as he then reached to start undoing the dozens of clasps on Max’s shirt. “You’re a Maker-forsaken obstacle course.”

“Didn’t think you’d balk at a challenge,” said Max playfully.

“Do I look like I’m balking?” replied Varric. He grinned deviously. “Just offering some advice. For future reference.” His fingers, which were skilled at undoing locks and calibrating weapons made short work of the decorative closures. He threw the shirt on the floor gleefully. “Much better,” he announced.

Max went back to running his hand across Varric’s chest. “So just to fully clarify,” he said. “We’re together now. Officially.”

“Yes. That’s were _I_ was going with this,” Varric affirmed.

“And we’ll tell everyone?” Max questioned.

“I don’t see a point in trying to be discreet,” said Varric. “Everyone already picked up on the fact we wanted this…unless you want to screw with them or something. Hm, that might be entertaining.”

Max grinned. “Interesting concept,” he agreed. “Let’s come back to that later. I have other things I want to focus on right now.”

“Oh?” Varric raised an eyebrow.

“Mm,” Max murmured. “Like maybe getting rid of the rest of our clothes and moving to the couch or the bed?” he ventured. “…Unless I’m getting ahead of myself?”

“Not at all,” said Varric. “This was already delayed over a month because I was being a dumbass. That’s taking it plenty slow enough for me. I don’t want to wait if you don’t.”

“I’ve wanted to do this since pretty much my first week in the Inquisition,” Max admitted.

“That long?” said Varric, clearly surprised. “I knew I was a charming bastard, but shit. Wish I’d picked up on that sooner. Your poker face is too good for your own good.”

“You’re modest too,” said Max with a chuckle. He pulled off Varric’s sash and dropped it on the growing pile of discarded clothes.

“Modesty is boring,” replied Varric. He jumped off the desk and tugged Max out of his chair. They tumbled over each other, kicking off their remaining garments as they scrambled to the bed.

Max hadn’t exactly been expecting things to go in this direction and wasn’t quite as prepared as he might have been for a romantic escapade. He paused in his journey to the bed to raid his dresser, searching for supplies. He managed to find a jar of salve leftover from one of his injuries. That would do.

“So,” he said, joining Varric on the bed. “I don’t want to sound like I’m making assumptions, but…you haven’t been with another man before, have you?”

“Nah,” said Varric. “I’d been kind of tied up with a woman for a really long time, as I think you picked up on.”

“I did get that,” said Max. “So, did you need me to…explain things?”

“I don’t think so,” said Varric after a moment of consideration. “I might not be experienced there but I’m pretty well read.”

Max’s eyebrows rose at the mental image of Varric reading smutty literature of the exclusively male variety. “You’ve read books about this?” He gestured vaguely between them.

Varric shrugged. “Hm, _books_ might be a generous description for it. See, I had this friend back in Kirkwall for a while. She liked to write stories about her friends? Some of them were exceptionally explicit. Some were even—ha, get this—about me. She was a pretty worldly lady, so I think they were well _researched_ , if you know what I mean. Very instructional.”

Max’s eyebrows shot up higher. “Wait, there’s pornographic stories out there about _you_? I’ve got to read that.”

“Was,” Varric corrected. “Was. I made her burn them. After I read them of course.”

“Well, that’s a crime,” said Max. “I _definitely_ want to read those.”

“I intend the real deal to be better than the friend-fiction,” said Varric, raising an eyebrow himself. “You weren’t in the stories, so who cares? Right?”

“Fair point,” said Max with a grin. He leaned in and caught Varric in another kiss. Varric kissed back enthusiastically, pushing Max back and climbing on top of him. He paused to give Max a chance to object or redirect. Max responded by grinding up into him.

“Shit,” said Varric. “This is definitely better than the stories.”

Varric was rocking against him and Max could feel both of their bodies rapidly responding. He reached up and ran his hands across Varric’s chest, then down the sides of his legs. A pleasant burn of warmth and arousal was radiating through him from the friction and Max groaned in encouragement. He caught Varric’s eyes and was overwhelmed by what he saw there. That look, the one of warmth and hopefulness that the Fade had sought to trick him with was there. But it was more too; his pupils dilated in want, Varric was looking at him much more intensely than any demon had. Maker’s breath this was _real_.

Varric’s hand slid between them and enveloped Max’s cock in a steady grip. Max let out a choked groan and bucked into the pressure. Varric stroked him firmly, his fingers trailing up and down his length, occasionally dipping down to caress his balls. Max reached for Varric in turn and guided him so that they were jerking together, their cocks sliding against each other in a joined grasp.

Max wanted to kiss Varric again but the height distance made it awkward. He leaned forward, his abs straining to try to bend enough to reach him. Varric’s hand stilled as he stretched to meet Max’s mouth with an insistent kiss. Max couldn’t help the needy moan that slipped out at the stilled contact. Slowly Varric pulled away, kissing his way down Max’s neck and collarbone. A cool tickling sensation dragged along with the kisses as the heavy gold pendant Varric still wore swung and bumped against Max’s skin.

He expected Varric to move back into his former position and resume the joined stroking, but the path of kisses continued until Varric had settled between Max’s legs. Varric’s eyes briefly darted up to meet Max with an intense gaze and then dropped his head, hand reaching to encircle the base of his cock while he took the end into his mouth. Max cried out at the sudden intensity of sensation, his thighs automatically clenching to hold Varric in place and his hips jutting forward, seeking to deepen the wet heat around him. He quickly came back to himself and loosened the grip of his legs. Varric experimentally licked and sucked him a few different ways and then fell into a rhythm of bobbing his head and jerking his hand in tandem around Max’s cock.

“Fuck, _Varric_ ,” Max moaned. He unconsciously reached for him, wanting to touch Varric back in any capacity. His hands drifted to the dwarf’s head and he tried to lightly thread his fingers through his hair. Varric reached up and pulled his hair tie loose to give Max easier access and auburn strands spilled around his face. Max had never seen him with his hair down and the simple act of removing the hair tie almost felt more intimate than the stripping of his clothing. He groaned and pushed into Varric’s mouth while his hands explored the soft locks.

The tension in his lower body was building and Max was drawing closer to the edge. He reluctantly stilled Varric’s motions and pressed the jar of salve into his hand. Varric pulled back and opened the jar. He glanced at Max, and Max spread his legs wider with an encouraging nod.

“Just redirect me if I’m not doing something right,” Varric muttered, for the first time a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Max nodded again, his mind too lust hazed to bother talking.

Varric dipped a finger into the salve and slowly entered him. Max relaxed into the intrusion and closed his eyes, focusing on the marveling fact that after years of wanting he was actually feeling Varric inside of him. He bore down on Varric’s finger encouragingly. After moving it around for a bit Varric slipped in a second and eventually a third.

“Ready?” asked Varric somewhat breathlessly.

“Maker, please,” gasped Max.

Varric pulled his fingers out, slicked himself, and repositioned with his cock at Max’s entrance. He locked his gaze on Max and slowly pushed in.

“Oh _shit_ ,” he murmured. “Fuck.”

“That’s the idea,” replied Max with a laugh. It quickly turned into a gasp as Varric pulled back and then pushed in deeper. Varric grasped Max’s thighs to steady himself as he worked up a rhythm. Max moaned as his body stretched and clenched around Varric, the heat and friction building into a fiery tension.

Varric’s hands slid from his thighs to squeeze his ass, then dragged up and fisted Max’s cock. He stroked him as he thrust, the movements getting jerkier and more erratic as they both got closer to completion. With one particularly deep press Max shuddered and came, spilling into Varric’s hand as Varric continued to drive into him. Varric groaned and sped up, thrusting a few more times before following Max over the edge. He cried out and Max felt the warmth of Varric’s release as he emptied himself deep inside him.

Varric slumped forward, breathing heavily, and gradually pulled out. He glanced around looking for something to clean off with and didn’t find anything readily available so he wiped his hand on the sheets. “Sorry,” he said a little sheepishly.

“Don’t care.” Max grinned widely and reached for Varric, pulling him up to lie next to him.

“Good, because I wasn’t _really_ sorry,” replied Varric with a chuckle.

“Shocking,” said Max dryly.

“So…worth the wait?” Varric asked.

“And then some,” Max grinned. “Did it live up to the friend-fiction?”

Varric snorted. “Surpassed by far. It even beat out my own fiction.”

“Wait you wrote about…” both of Max’s eyebrows rose. He pointed at Varric and he pointed at himself. “ _You_ wrote about _this_? Us?”

“Uh, no,” Varric replied unconvincingly.

“Maker’s breath, you wrote friend-fiction about us. Doing this. You did, didn’t you?”

“I don’t write friend-fiction!” Varric huffed indignantly. “I write novels. _Tasteful_ novels. I would certainly not include anything half this personal or explicit.”

Max leveled Varric with a skeptical look.

Varric coughed. “…Not in the final draft anyway,” he muttered almost unintelligibly.

“I definitely need to read _that_ ,” Max concluded.

“I definitely need to edit it first,” Varric hedged. “Now that new research has come to light.”

“You should probably do a bit more research,” said Max with a grin. “Just to be sure.”

“I like how you think.” Varric grinned back as he scooted back up to pull Max into another kiss.

* * * (Varric) * * *

“It’s not as good as _Swords and Shields_ ,” said Cassandra seriously. “The characters are too…specific. It will not be relatable to a broad audience.”

“Your complaint is noted,” replied Varric with a roll of his eyes.

“She read it six times,” said Cole casually.

“I did not!” exclaimed Cassandra.

“Some parts she read more times,” Cole added. “The parts with burning and squirming and checking for watching eyes.”

Cassandra’s face went scarlet. “Slander!” she cried. “I did not!” She glared at Cole and then turned to scowl at Varric. “I was just being thorough in order to give you constructive feedback. To help.”

“That is…very helpful. Thank you Seeker,” replied Varric with a smirk.

“It was better than your original concept,” she added. “It is good you listened to my advice.”

Varric’s eyes slid over to Max, who was standing across the room and engaged in an animated conversation with Dorian. He’d been looking happier and less care-worn lately than Varric had ever seen before. It was obvious the others were noticing too. His smirk softened into a genuine and affectionate smile.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It really is.”


End file.
